


to sweep me off my feet

by ADreamingSongbird



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Identity Reveal, Journalist Katsuki Yuuri, M/M, Secret Identity, Superhero Viktor Nikiforov, Vicchan Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-20 23:55:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13728702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADreamingSongbird/pseuds/ADreamingSongbird
Summary: Yuuri went to school in America to get a good, stable job—no, really, Mom, he meant to, he swears!  And journalismwaspromising!  It was really good!  Until supervillains started appearing and then a (rather attractive) superhero showed up too, and, well...This is his life, these are his choices, and it's absolutely unfair that he has to have the office across from someone as hot as Viktor Nikiforov.





	to sweep me off my feet

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for some depictions of violence (nothing major or too graphic) and fires, and anxiety/a panic attack!
> 
> This fic features art by [min](http://paluumin.tumblr.com/) and [UB](http://scribblingsky.tumblr.com/) !!! Their art is linked within the text, definitely check them out and give them the appreciation they deserve ♥

Yuuri holds his breath, carefully twisting his hands and straining despite the sting of the rope digging into his wrists. If he could just—if he could just pull a little further! Then he’d be able to slide his left hand out of the knots and untie his feet and run, god _dammit_. Maybe if he scrapes his wrists on the ropes enough they’ll bleed, and that’ll make them slick enough to slide out?

Ugh. If only he could see what he was doing. Why couldn’t he have gotten tied up with his hands in _front_ of him? It’s not like he can use his teeth on the ropes while there’s this disgusting gag in his mouth.

_Ugh._

Yuuri _hates_ Mondays.

“Eternità!” he hears, echoing from the room behind him. (The room behind him, which he really wants to see, dammit. At least let him do his job as a reporter if he has to be tied to this horrible chair out in the boring, fenced-in back yard of Scorcher’s latest hideout.) “How did—it’s a shame you came so early, I was getting something ready for later. Never mind, though! Stand down. Unless you want that little reporter losing something… like a limb or two? Or his pretty little head?”

Okay, honestly. What _is_ it with Scorcher and calling him pretty? Why does she have to do that? Isn’t kidnapping him enough? And threatening to cut off his arms or legs?

“Ah, ah, Scorcher, we’ve been over this before,” Yuuri hears Eternità’s familiar voice tut. “You don’t touch Mr. Katsuki. The only one who will be losing anything today—this fight, for example—will be _you!”_

That was cheesy. Still, cheesy hero one-liners or not, relief rolls sharply through Yuuri, almost like a punch to the gut that rolls up his body and leaves him gasping out a breath that’s swallowed by the gag. Oh, thank god. Eternità is here. He’s saved.

Waiting around to be rescued still rankles, though, so while furniture flies and flames burst behind him, he keeps wriggling against the ropes, wincing with a quiet, muffled _ah_ as the frayed, rough fibers bite into his wrists. Almost, almost, _almost…_

Behind him, everything goes quiet.

Footsteps approach.

“Mr. Katsuki?”

Yuuri sighs into the stupid, gross gag. “Mmph,” he mutters, because there’s no point in really _talking_ until Eternità gets this thing off him. Until then, all he can manage are indignant noises.

“Oh dear, you really are in quite a bind, aren’t you?”

He still can’t see the superhero, but now at least there are fingers at the back of his head, untying the gag. Yuuri spits it out with vehemence, and it falls into his lap, where he glares at it as harshly as he can manage while Eternità snaps his fingers, and a spell vanishes the ropes from his wrists.

“That was a terrible line and you know it,” he complains, massaging his sore wrists for a moment. Eternità frees his legs similarly quickly, the ropes dissipating into shimmers of fast-fading light, and Yuuri can’t stifle the gasp of relief that escapes him now that blood can flow freely to his feet. He really had been losing feeling for a while, there.

“Terrible or not, I’m glad you’re alright,” Eternità says, and he finally, finally steps around the chair, standing in front of Yuuri in all his magenta, princely glory. He smiles slightly, offering a hand. “You are, yes?”

“I’m fine,” Yuuri sighs, letting Eternità pull him to his feet. “You know, I feel like we’ve done this enough that you can just call me Yuuri, at this point.”

Eternità’s eyes twinkle behind his mask, and he squeezes Yuuri’s hand before letting go. “I could, but where would the fun be in that, Mr. Katsuki?”

God, Eternità is such a tease.

“I’m glad you’re having fun with this, at least,” Yuuri mutters. “Makes one of us.”

“Maybe you should take more care to stay out of trouble, then,” Eternità says, the teasing lilt gone from his voice. He’s somewhere between concerned and sharp now, like a sword used to defend the heart.

“Don’t be silly,” Yuuri says, shaking his head. “It’s a game, now. Everyone knows me as that reporter who always gets kidnapped. I get targeted. Anyway, if I tried hiding or running, someone else would just end up getting hurt instead. Might as well be me. At least I always get a good story out of it.”

Doesn’t mean he particularly likes his reputation as villain bait or the moderate fame that comes along with it, but there’s not a lot he can do about that, at this point. And, as he keeps telling himself, it keeps some other poor soul from getting snatched off a street corner and dangled in front of Eternità as a hostage. He’s fine with this. He is.

“Well,” Eternità sighs, “if you say so, Mr. Katsuki. Now, are you ready to get out of here?”

“Yes, _please,”_ Yuuri says fervently. “Scorcher took me before I even had my morning coffee.”

“That’s just _uncivilized,”_ Eternità sniffs. Then he smirks, eyes twinkling behind his mask again. “Well, Mr. Katsuki, would you like to stop for coffee on the way back downtown? My treat, of course.”

Yuuri raises an eyebrow. “And have to disappoint everybody asking me for the next two weeks whether I went on a date with you? I appreciate it, but no thanks.”

Eternità pouts. _Such_ a tease, honestly. A big, flirty tease. He’s the perfect picture of a superhero. Yuuri covertly massages his wrists some more, not wanting to draw attention to them. “Who says you have to disappoint them?”

Is he saying Yuuri should say _yes_ they were on a date?

Flabbergasted, Yuuri just shakes his head wordlessly until he finds his voice.

“Listen,” he says, holding up a finger and then finding that not emphatic enough, and ultimately using it to sternly poke Eternità in the chest. _“Listen._ We are _not_ having this conversation on a Monday morning when it’s not even half past nine yet, in an overgrown lot behind a half-burnt building on the edge of town. Just… take me to my office, please.”

“Alright, alright,” Eternità says, and holds out his arm. Yuuri steps closer, determinedly staring at one of the golden embellishments on Eternità’s shoulder, and _does not_ blush at all when Eternità wraps his arm securely around his waist, holding him tight, and waits until Yuuri wraps his arms around him too. “Hold on!”

“You say that every time, I _know_ —!” Yuuri complains, but the last word is ripped away on the wind as Eternità leaps into the air, flying with Yuuri’s extra weight effortlessly.

Eternità laughs against the wind, his short silvery hair fluttering as they arc high into the sky. Yuuri squeaks despite himself, clutching at him a little tighter. They’re really, _really_ high up, and he thinks he might have left his stomach on the ground.

“Now, Mr. Katsuki, remember. Try not to look down,” Eternità advises. “And don’t be afraid. I won’t drop you!”

“You _better_ not!” Yuuri squeaks out. Eternità giggles, actually _giggles,_ and if he wasn’t currently clinging to the man for dear life, Yuuri would be tempted to smack him.

“So! We’re up in the clear air, much nicer than an overgrown lot!” Eternità says. “Should we have this conversation now?”

Yuuri, who is trying to ignore how his morning has been going by thinking about how he’ll be at work soon and while that might be a drag, at least Viktor Nikiforov (the very cute editor who happens to be in the office across the hall from Yuuri’s) will probably smile at him, shakes his head.

_“No!”_ he says firmly, having to shout against the wind as Eternità zooms over downtown far below, starting to descend toward Yuuri’s building’s rooftop. “Not before I have at _least_ four cups of tea.”

“Oh, alright,” Eternità says. “I guess I should ask you out on a tea date next time, then!”

“Maybe you should!” Yuuri huffs.

Within a few minutes, the building looms larger and larger, and soon Eternità alights on the roof, setting him down with remarkable gentleness. “Here you are, then. I’ll see you next time, Mr. Katsuki!”

“Thank you,” Yuuri sighs, rubbing his temples. “I—yeah, see you.”

 Eternità laughs sunnily and vanishes back into the skies as Yuuri turns around and trudges into the stairwell, where he collapses for a good fifteen minutes to let his poor jelly legs figure out how to walk again.

God, he really hates Mondays.

 

* * *

When Yuuri finally lets Celestino know he’s arrived (“Sorry. Scorcher again. Um. Yeah. I’ll, uh, start writing about it—” before he flees) and heads for his desk chair, wanting to just close his eyes and sink into it for a moment, he finds someone waiting.

Cute Viktor Nikiforov From Across The Hall perks up as soon as he sees him, coming out of his office to stand in the hallway, very close.

“Yuuri!” he exclaims. “I heard Scorcher got you this morning—are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?”

“I—um—no, no, I’m—I’m fine!” he stammers out, feeling his face heat. Viktor has the sleeves of his button-up rolled up to his elbows, and that _shouldn’t_ be such an appealing look on him but it _is,_ and Yuuri can’t help but notice how nice his forearms are. Is that weird? He feels like that’s a weird thing to get caught up on. But Viktor has—well. He has arms that look like they would be very good arms to be held by. Oh, god, this is so weird of him to be thinking about! “Thank you for arms—I mean—thank you for _asking_ , yes, asking!”

“Of course I’d ask!” Viktor says, sounding as if the concept of him _not_ being handsome and standing right there and concerned about Yuuri’s well-being is just astounding and appalling. “Getting kidnapped by a supervillain first thing on a Monday morning? I’m amazed you still came in to work afterwards. I know I wouldn’t have!”

“Oh, well,” Yuuri stammers, because well, Viktor is _complimenting_ him, and he doesn’t know how to process that. “It’s—it’s nothing, really. I just, um, I guess I didn’t see the point in sitting around at home to stew over it. Might as well write it down, you know? It’s… a good story, at least…”

Viktor gives him a scrutinizing look. “Well, if you say so,” he concedes, smiling that charming smile of his, the one that dazzles Yuuri a bit too brightly for him to handle. “But still, take care of yourself. You’re a very valued person around here, you know.”

Yuuri’s heart leaps in his chest, fluttering like an anxious bird. Him? Valued? To Viktor? Oh, no, of course he has to be talking about—about at the _office,_ right, because as the usual villain magnet he always has good articles—that’s right. Yes. That’s all.

“I—I guess,” he says, pushing his glasses up his nose as a nervous gesture. Maybe he should go get to work. Write it down, submit it for editing, and flee to go talk to Phichit and wail it out. Yes.

Viktor’s smile gets even more blinding. “I’m glad you agree,” he says. “At least let me make you some tea before you settle down? To show my appreciation?”

Yuuri blinks a few times before finding his voice. “I—um—you—you don’t have to do that!” he tries to protest, but Viktor isn’t hearing it, apparently, because he’s already headed for the kitchen area in the corner of the office floor, humming. “Oh—if you insist, I … I guess … I appreciate it very much!”

He hurries after Viktor, wringing his hands and fretting, but Viktor doesn’t seem particularly worried about that, because he just waits until Yuuri falls into step with him. “You usually like the pomegranate green one, right?” he asks. A little thrill of fluttery excitement shoots through Yuuri at the thought that Viktor actually remembers his favorite tea.

“Um, yes,” he squeaks. “Yes, pomegranate, ah, yes. That one.”

“Wonderful!” Viktor offers him that dazzling smile again, and Yuuri has to concentrate to avoid tripping over his own feet. No one person should be allowed to be this handsome. It’s just not _fair._ “I was hoping I’d remember it right.”

“You did,” Yuuri assures him. “Thank you.”

They arrive at the kitchen tucked in the back corner of the floor, and Yuuri starts to head over to the cabinets to get himself a mug, but Viktor catches him by the shoulder.

“No, no,” he says, tutting. “The entire point of this is that _I’m_ making tea _for you._ I insist!”

Without waiting for a protest of any sort, he steers Yuuri over to the table and pulls out a chair, and Yuuri finds himself being pushed into a seat for the second time today (far more gently than Scorcher did, though).

“Relax, sit, enjoy the view,” Viktor says, winking as he turns around, which is both fortunate and _not._ Fortunate, because it means he can’t see Yuuri blushing like an overripe tomato. Unfortunate, because it takes far too many seconds for Yuuri to realize that the view in question is, in fact, out the window next to the table, and does not have anything to do with Viktor, or his well-fitted pants, or his broad shoulders, or his—

Window. Yes. Window. And sky. Wow, there’s buildings out there. Fascinating. Truly.

“Thank you, again,” Yuuri manages, oddly proud of himself for not tripping over his tongue this time. “I don’t know what I did—I mean, you don’t have to be doing this—it’s very nice of you, don’t get me wrong!—I just, I didn’t know, um—thank you, yes!”

Viktor laughs. The sound is like molten silver poured over a cascade of rainbows, mingled with a quartet of golden harps playing a hymn to velvet. Also, Yuuri might be waxing poetic, within the safety of his own mind. Hm. That’s not great.

“You’re welcome, Yuuri,” he says again, turning around to lean against the counter as the water heats in the kettle behind him. He folds his arms over his chest, indolent and casual, and his sleeves are still rolled up and his shoulders are so nice too and he just—he _really_ looks like he would give a good hug. Yuuri kind of really wants a hug, and not just because of his crush. He’d love a hug from Phichit, too.

(Getting used to being kidnapped by supervillains just means they lose the element of surprise. It doesn’t make the possibility of getting burned to death before nine in the morning any less terrifying.)

Yuuri stares a little awkwardly, realizes he’s staring, and quickly drops his gaze to the cozy wooden floor. Most of the office is simple tile or crisp and professional carpet, but the kitchen was recently remodeled to be comfortable and warm—homey, was how Celestino described it—and everything in here is wooden and softer than the rest of the building. The colors catch the morning sunlight quite nicely. It’s warm. Not too warm, like fire, or anything, but… warm.

“Yuuri?”

His head snaps up. “Yes?”

Viktor is looking at him, a little concerned. “Are you alright?”

“I—ah—yes,” Yuuri says quickly, heat flooding to his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I just got lost in thought.”

“It’s alright,” Viktor says, though he’s still looking at him with doubt in his eyes. “You know… if you’re not feeling up to being here, you can take the day off. I’m sure Ciao-Ciao won’t mind. You’ve had a bit of an extreme morning. Nobody would blame you—”

“Thank you, but I _don’t_ want to sit alone in my apartment after spending my morning with threats of incineration hung over my head, so please, drop it,” Yuuri blurts out, maybe a little more tightly than he intended, gripping the edge of his chair.

Silence falls for a moment. When Yuuri dares to peek up, Viktor is looking at him with a wide, shocked expression.

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately, contrite and afraid. He drops his gaze back to the floorboards immediately, studying the grain of the wood and wondering if it could just swallow him now, or if that would be too convenient. Is there a wood-loving supervillain that could come kidnap him? He can deal with Eternità’s flirty sass, but Viktor’s genuine concern is something else entirely. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I’m sorry. I—it’s unprofessional of me.”

“No, no, no,” Viktor says hurriedly, coming forward. “No, please don’t feel bad, Yuuri, I’m sorry for being so pushy! It’s not your fault.”

He drops to one knee so that they’re at eye level, and then he reaches up and actually cups Yuuri’s chin, forcing him to look up. Yuuri swallows hard. Have those eyes always been so blue?

“You’re allowed to ask us for help if you need it,” he says, quiet but intense. “I don’t want you to feel bad about needing anything, Yuuri. Okay?”

“…Okay,” Yuuri mumbles. He bites his lip, still feeling guilty. “Still. I feel bad. I shouldn’t have said that so harshly. You’re just trying to help. You’re—you’re being so nice, making me tea and everything, and I just—I’m… I’m sorry.”

Viktor surprises him with a sudden, fierce hug. He smells very nice, and being held by his arms is even better than Yuuri had thought it would be.

“It’s alright, Yuuri,” he says warmly. “You’ve had a rough morning. If you don’t want to be alone, at any point… well, just know that my door is open.”

Yuuri hesitates before laying his head on Viktor’s shoulder, not entirely sure if that level of affection is welcome but really hoping it is. “I… I”ll try to keep that in mind,” he promises, and lets out a shaky breath. This is… well, this is nice. Being held is nice. He might’ve needed this.

“Good!” Viktor chirps. He pulls back a little too soon, returning with the steaming mug, and places it on the table. “Here you are.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri says again. He stares at the floor for a moment, then manages to look at Viktor’s impeccable black shoes, then from there to his slacks, and then his rolled-up sleeves again, and then, finally, finally, his face. He’s smiling softly. “I… thanks. Really.”

“It’s just a cup of tea,” Viktor laughs. “But you’re quite welcome. And please don’t feel bad. I, ah… I know what you mean, about not wanting to be alone in an apartment with the thoughts in your head. So… don’t worry. I’m not upset or anything like that.”

“That’s—okay, um, thanks, again,” Yuuri says, because he’s an awkward idiot who doesn’t know how to respond to anything with actual words or feelings. He blows on his tea so he doesn’t have to keep talking, feeling like a moron, and Viktor just laughs again. He has a nice laugh.

“Anytime,” he says cheerfully. “I guess I should get back to work, huh?”

Yuuri hums. _Or you could sit here and have tea with me,_ he kind of wants to say, but doesn’t, because they’re at _work,_ for crying out loud. Of course he should work. “Ah, yes. Me too, actually.”

Viktor walks him back to his office and lingers in the doorway, still smiling that gorgeous smile, until Yuuri has settled into his desk chair with a soft sigh.

“I’ll see you around, Yuuri,” he says, waving and turning smartly on his heel to head back to his own office.

“Y-yes, see you,” Yuuri calls, a moment too late because, of _course,_ like the dumbass he is, he had tea in his mouth when Viktor left. Shaking his head, he sighs wearily and prepares to write about today’s observations on Scorcher.

 

* * *

Phichit is waiting in the lobby when Yuuri heads downstairs to leave the building, a cup of steaming coffee in his hand as he leans on the office’s reception desk to let both receptionists see whatever is on his phone screen—judging by the delighted look on his housemate’s face, Yuuri would wager a decent sum that it’s hamster videos.

“Hey, Phichit,” he greets, and Phichit twirls about, grinning.

“Yuuri!” he cheers. “Glad to see you in one piece, after this morning!”

Yuuri sighs wearily. “Yeah,” he agrees, and Phichit’s exuberance fades, replaced by concern. “Me too.”

“Hey… are you okay?” his best friend asks, nudging his arm as they start walking to the parking lot. “You aren’t hurt, are you? We can stop at the hospital, if you—”

“No, no,” Yuuri reassures hastily. “It’s nothing worse than the usual—a few bruises and scrapes, whatever. I’m just really tired, for some reason.”

Phichit hums. “I mean. Getting kidnapped as superhero bait sounds exhausting.” He shrugs. “You should go take a hot shower and a nice nap when we get home. I’ll make dinner. Or d’you wanna order pizza and call it a lazy night in?”

“Either or,” Yuuri shrugs back. They reach their car and Phichit settles in behind the wheel, while Yuuri slumps across the passenger’s seat and groans, whines, and grumbles for a solid minute.

“Ugh,” he finally finishes. _“Ugh.”_

“Yeah,” Phichit agrees sagely, even though no words were said. This is why Yuuri likes him. “I totally agree. That’s a big fucking mood, right there.”

“How did my life come to this,” Yuuri asks nobody in particular, staring at the car’s roof. Buildings roll by outside, blocking out the hazy late-afternoon sky in chunks. “My mother must have had at least fifteen heart attacks just knowing I’m over here getting kidnapped all the time. I swear I didn’t try to make this happen. Why does this happen to me?”

“I dunno, dude,” Phichit says sympathetically. “Probably because Eternità likes you and they figured that out, so now they _know_ to go for you.”

“I mean… it keeps other people from getting kidnapped, so I _guess_ it works,” Yuuri mutters, then sits up. “Wait. What? What do you mean he likes me?”

Phichit uses the fact that they’re sitting at a red light to turn his head and pin Yuuri with a long _are-you-serious_ look. “Uh, I know you’re a journalist and not a photographer, but like, have you seen the way he looks at you in some of those shots?”

“That literally means nothing,” Yuuri huffs. “He’s wearing a _mask,_ and you’re just a hopeless romantic who reads too much shitty literature.”

“ _Rough And Ready_ is a masterpiece,” sniffs Phichit, “whether you accept it or not. Oh, _Torolf!”_

“No,” Yuuri says, stifling laughter. “No, keep Torolf away from me, I like my men with abs that stay in place, please.”

Phichit’s grin grows. “Do Eternità’s abs gallop, Yuuri?”

“No,” Yuuri says definitively, because he was pressed against those abs this morning, and he knows for a fact that they are, in fact, quite nice abs. In general, Eternità has a nice build. Not that he’s spent much time thinking about this, or anything. “No, absolutely not.”

(Almost a dancer’s build, with those broad shoulders and that narrow waist and those long, long legs—)

(Anyway!!)

 “So you like men with abs like Eternità’s?” Phichit asks, because he is a horrible, horrible tease of a friend to the bitter end and he knows it. Even worse, he flashes Yuuri an absolutely _evil_ grin for a brief moment before returning his attention to the road. “Or do you prefer men with abs like Viktor The Hot Editor’s?”

“ _Phichit!”_ Yuuri wails. He buries his face in his hands and sincerely, really regrets ever telling his best friend about his horribly giant crush on his coworker. “…He made me tea this morning, after Eternità dropped me off.”

“Oooh! He did?” Phichit asks gleefully. Yuuri could swear his voice went up and down a full octave on that _oooh_ and really wonders how anyone could have this much enthusiasm about his love life.

Slumping down further in his seat, Yuuri presses his hands harder to his face. “He even remembered that my favorite is the pomegranate green…”

“Oh my god,” Phichit says. “This is progress. He’s a good man in my books now. He made sure to remember your tea preferences. That’s adorable. Ask him out.”

“ _No,”_ Yuuri says emphatically. “I would literally rather let Eternità take me out for coffee than trip over myself trying to think straight around Viktor long enough to put the sentence _go out with me_ together.”

Phichit snickers. “Yeah, we both know you’re no good at thinking _straight_ around him.”

Yuuri snorts. “Shut up.”

“You love me,” Phichit says serenely, turning into the parking garage.

“Yeah,” Yuuri concedes, “but still.”

They make their way up to their apartment, still talking and laughing, where Vicchan greets them both with a happy yip, jumping excitedly around their ankles. The usual manuever works—Yuuri scoops him up while Phichit hurries to shut the door again—and Yuuri flops into the slightly overstuffed recliner they bought off Craigslist in college and haven’t bothered to replace yet, cradling his wiggly dog to his chest.

“Vicchan,” he cooes, scratching behind those fluffy, curly little ears and crooning in Japanese. _“Have you been a good boy? Were you a good boy today?”_

Vicchan wriggles in his arms, huffing excitedly, and Yuuri laughs, feeling whatever’s left of the morning’s tension evaporate. Between Viktor, Phichit, and Vicchan, his dear, sweet, adorable Vicchan, it’s hard to stay sad.

_“I’m so proud of you, Vicchan!”_ he says, curling up cozily. _“You’re such a good boy! You’re the best boy.”_

He kisses the top of the dog’s head and closes his eyes, and after a moment, Vicchan relaxes too, snuggling into Yuuri’s arms instead of wiggling all over the place. Yuuri sighs deeply. He’s so tired. Hugging Vicchan and sitting down somewhere cozy is _really_ relaxing. Maybe he’ll get that nap before the shower…

Vicchan echoes the sigh, letting out one of those world-weary exhalations that only dogs can really pull off, and Yuuri laughs. _“I love you, Vicchan,”_ he says, looking down at his puppy and smiling. _“Loooove!”_

Vicchan’s little tail wags cheerfully, and he wriggles again, huffing. Yuuri’s phone buzzes.

He sighs again, switching back to English. “You snapchatted me talking to my dog again?”

“Can’t help it,” Phichit says, walking into the kitchen. He puts some music on—pop from the early 2000s, always a good choice—and flicks on the lights. “You’re too cute with him. So. Rice and stir-fried veggies sound good?”

“Sounds divine,” Yuuri says, closing his eyes. Vicchan is warm and heavy on his chest—somehow, he always knows when Yuuri’s had a long day and just needs to relax with some cuddles. He really _is_ the best boy. What would Yuuri do without him? “Thanks,” he adds, a little belatedly, as he looks over at Phichit again. He’s the best friend anyone could ever ask for.

“No prob,” Phichit says, flashing finger guns at him and grinning. “I’m just glad you finally started letting me take care of you these days, you dumbass.” He turns away to pull some onions out of their box in the cabinet next to the stove, humming along to Lady Gaga.

_Dumbass_ is something of a term of affection in this apartment, something that Mari found endlessly amusing, last time they Skyped. Yuuri rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, you bullied me into it, and I don’t wanna get up because I have a dog. So.”

“Vicchan helps me bully you,” Phichit says. “He is a very good boy.”

“He’s the best boy,” Yuuri says. He kisses the top of Vicchan’s head again, smiling softly, and grins when a floppy pink tongue licks his chin in return. Vicchan is warm and heavy and so very fluffy. He’s so sweet.

A few moments pass in a companionable silence. Yuuri tips his head back into the recliner and sighs, trying not to think about the morning.

“You know, sometimes I’m still surprised you stick around with me,” he admits, stroking Vicchan’s fur and not looking at Phichit. “Because, like, I’m a walking target at this point, and everything. It’s… I mean, it’s probably dangerous, you know?”

Phichit shrugs. “At this point, I’d say all three of the supervillains in this city know you pretty well,” he says. “Besides, I’m not the one Eternità would _want_ to be saving.”

Yuuri frowns. “You say that like he wouldn’t want to save you. He saves everyone, Phichit. It’s his _job.”_

“Yeah, and I mean, it’s really noble that you keep getting yourself kidnapped, but...” Phichit shrugs again, nonchalantly tossing a potato from hand to hand. “I think they have an ulterior motive in going after you. It’s not just _normal_ at this point, it’s… I dunno. I don’t feel particularly scared.”

Yuuri groans. “How did my life come to this…”

“You caught the eye of a superhero by saving that grumpy high school kid that one time when Scorcher was rampaging downtown,” Phichit says, very helpfully, as if Yuuri could ever forget the first time he got used as a hostage. It was a lot more terrifying than the fifteenth time, that’s for sure. “And then the time after that when Marquis was about to run off with that old lady when you were all like _wait take me instead_ because you had ‘experience’ being a hostage already. And then—”

“No, no, I get it,” Yuuri groans. “I’m a self-sacrificing idiot who needs to learn to stay in his own lane…”

Phichit snickers.

“Something like that,” he agrees. “Something like that.”

 

* * *

Has Yuuri ever mentioned that he hates Mondays?

“Mr. Katsuki,” Marquis drawls, tightening the metal cuffs until they dig painfully into Yuuri’s skin. “A pleasure to see you again. I do apologize that it has to be under these circumstances.”

“No offense, but I’m starting to wonder what the point of even kidnapping me is,” Yuuri says, because for once he’s free of gags. “ Eternità is just going to show up and save me again. Doesn’t this get old to you?”

Because Yuuri really, really hates Mondays.

“Not this time,” Marquis says with a hint of glee. “This time, he’s mine. You can go free after that, Mr. Katsuki. You’re just here to draw him in, like the fly to my web…”

“If it’s really a trap, you know he won’t fall for it,” Yuuri sighs, tilting his head back until it thumps against the wall behind him. “He’s smarter than that. Give him some credit.”

“It really is sweet, how much faith you place in him,” Marquis observes, smiling unpleasantly. Of the three supervillains who live in the area, Marquis is definitely Yuuri’s least favorite. He’s kind of sleazy, but pretends he’s noble and elegant. Ugh. “I’ll be sure to let him know how you look up to him before he dies.”

Yuuri frowns. “What are you even talking about?”

The ugly, unpleasant smile grows, and Yuuri’s frown deepens in response. “Mr. Katsuki, I think you’ll find that when Eternità arrives, he’ll be in for quite the surprise.”

“He’s beaten you before,” Yuuri says wearily, losing interest. This is scary, but in a way that feels removed from reality. Yeah, maybe he’ll get threatened again. Eternità has to show up eventually, though. He’s trying to tell himself that he’s just tired of all of this so he doesn’t actually panic. “He’ll beat you again.”

“Even if he walks in and finds my blade at your throat?”

The sudden _shing_ of a dagger being unsheathed is startling enough, but that surprise pales to the shock of cold metal pressed to his throat. Yuuri gasps, suddenly wide awake. Being a hostage and bait is one thing. Being a hostage used as _blackmail_ is … a lot scarier, actually.

Marquis’s eyes glint. “My apologies, Mr. Katsuki. I said you could go free after Eternità surrenders to me, but… well… I’m afraid your freedom depends entirely on his behavior.”

Yuuri squirms back, trying to get away, but he’s pressed against the wall already, unable to go anywhere. “That’s… very cold,” he manages to rasp out. “Please stop.”

Marquis lets out a laugh. “Please stop!” he chortles. “I do hope Eternità surrenders fast! It’d be a pity to kill someone with your sense of humor!”

“You’re not going to kill me, and we both know it,” Yuuri tries, breathing shallowly because he’s afraid to move at all. “Scorcher and Hypervolt would both turn on you because I’m useful to them, too, and you can’t risk that.”

Marquis hesitates, and Yuuri knows he’s onto something. He still sometimes wonders how the _hell_ he found himself in the middle of politics between three supervillains and a superhero, but, uh… what’s that French saying that Chris loves again? C’est la vie. Such is life.

“So this is entirely a bluff,” Yuuri adds, “and you’re just hoping Eternità … won’t notice? Doesn’t seem like a good plan to me. What do you do if he calls your bluff?”

“You think you’re so smart, Mr. Katsuki,” Marquis huffs. “Perhaps you should _stop talking.”_

“I literally write about all of this for a living,” Yuuri deadpans. “I’d like to think I’d know a thing or two, yeah.”

Marquis turns pensive, pulling the knife away thoughtfully, though he doesn’t sheathe it yet. It stays hovering about an inch from Yuuri’s skin instead. “You’d make a great sidekick, you know…”

Yuuri stares at him, incredulous. “Uh… no.”

“Why not?” Marquis presses. “I could pay you handsomely. You wouldn’t need to live as a reporter anymore.”

Yuuri sighs. “Because as much as I’d _like_ to be a dime-a-dozen nobody, the truth is that both Hypervolt and Scorcher would still target me, _especially_ if I teamed up with you, and then I’d just have Eternità on my ass, too. Besides, I don’t like you.”

Marquis snorts, as if he expected that answer. “So cold, Mr. Katsuki.”

“I prefer to think of it as honesty.”

“You’ll be saddened, I’m sure,” Marquis says, as if Yuuri didn’t speak at all, “to know that I see through you, however. Your attempt at distracting me until Eternità arrives was a valiant one, I’ll admit! But I am quite aware of what you’re trying to do here.”

The knife is back to his throat. Yuuri is reminded of the first time he was used as a hostage—that was Scorcher, and she was just threatening to light him on fire, not slit his throat, but it’s similar—and has to restrain himself from heaving a weary sigh. God. Can he just go home and take a nap and cry into Vicchan’s fur for a bit? He doesn’t want to be here.

But it’s still work time, and he doesn’t actually want to go home while Phichit isn’t there, so it’s more like he will go to his office and sit there and hate everything for an hour or two until five o’clock hits and they can go home.

Ugh. It’s only been _three weeks_ since Scorcher got him last time. Twenty-one days! Can’t he catch a break here and there?

“Fine,” Yuuri says tonelessly. He closes his eyes. “Do that, then. It’s not like Eternità has ever dealt with hostage situations before…”

“Hmph,” Marquis harrumphs, and says nothing more.

Some very awkward silence falls. Yuuri ignores it. He’s not the one making things awkward by just standing around with a knife to someone’s throat while waiting for someone else to show up. If Marquis wants to make things less awkward, he can put that damn knife away.

Is it bad that he doesn’t care that much? Maybe trying not to panic went too far in the other direction and now he’s just worryingly numb? He probably isn’t supposed to be this apathetic right now. But then again, Marquis can’t actually kill him, right? As much as he doesn’t like to admit it, he’s somehow reached the point of being important to all three major supervillains. Why this has to happen to him, a good person, he does not know, but _ugh,_ he is so tired of it.

Also, these handcuffs are way too tight, and his wrists hurt. His hands are chained above his head, and they’re kind of going numb, and frankly, he’s really not a fan of that.

“Can you at least loosen these a little bit?” he finally asks. “This is very uncomfortable.”

“Hmm?” Marquis hums. Did he seriously just zone out while holding a _knife_ to Yuuri’s throat? Really? “My apologies, Mr. Katsuki. What was that?”

Yuuri has to remind himself, again, not to sigh very, very deeply.

“Nothing,” he starts to say, only suddenly, the door gets blown off its hinges, and Marquis lets out a sudden shriek.

And his hand slips.

Yuuri lets out a startled, choked cry of both pain and sudden terror—it was a _bluff_ he wasn’t supposed to actually get _hurt_ holy shit is he going to _die?_ —but luckily, Marquis didn’t slip too far and it just stings more than anything. Yuuri still struggles to catch his breath, the anxiety that is supposed to have left him alone when he started taking his meds spiraling up and up and up like a runaway balloon.

“ Eternità!” Marquis exclaims. “You’re finally here! We’ve been waiting.”

 Eternità stands silhouetted in the doorway, framed by golden sunlight streaming in from outside, and his clothes and hair ripple slightly in the wind. His face is hard to see thanks to the backlight, but from what Yuuri can tell…

… He looks _furious._

“Marquis,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “Step away from Mr. Katsuki and put the knife down. _Now.”_

“Now, now, Eternità,” Marquis says, “I’m the one with a hostage, and you are not! You should be listening to _me,_ here. Surrender, and Mr. Katsuki can go, unharmed.”

“Unharmed?” Eternità echoes disbelievingly. “You already hurt him!”

“That’s your fault!” Marquis exclaims. “You should have knocked!”

“Should have—” Eternità shakes his head, flabbergasted. “Why would I have knocked?”

“Well, for starters, it’s polite,” Marquis huffs. Yuuri wonders if he’s lightheaded because of anxiety, or if maybe the knife cut deeper than he thought and it’s blood loss, or if maybe he’s just hallucinating this utterly ridiculous stalemate. Maybe it’s all three.

“And kidnapping poor reporters and chaining them up to walls is also polite?” Eternità asks incredulously. “You don’t get to use the politeness argument, Marquis. Get that knife away from him now, or _else.”_

The knife does not lower. “If you make one move, he dies,” Marquis bluffs.

“You and I both know you won’t kill him, because if you do, the number of people hunting you down will triple,” Eternità warns. He takes a step forward.

Marquis wavers.

That’s the only opening Eternità needs—he lunges forward with a flying kick so fast that all Yuuri sees is a blur before suddenly he’s free to breathe again, no knife in the way, which would be great if he actually _could_ breathe. There’s a clang of metal on metal, and when he looks up, Eternità has blocked a blow from Marquis’s longsword with the fallen knife, catching it at the hilt.

There’s a flash, and then some more fighting—Yuuri shuts his eyes and bows his head and tries to count to ten on each breath, ignoring the noise and the yelling and the clangs and crashes and thuds. It’s difficult. He’s not very good at it. _In_ -two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine-ten, _out-_ two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine-ten, _in-_ two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine-ten…

But then things fall silent, save for a few footsteps, soft and yet incredibly loud in the stillness. Yuuri keeps his eyes closed, not wanting to open them until he’s sure he can breathe again.

A hand cups his chin. “Mr. Katsuki?”

 Eternità’s voice is soft and urgent. He has a nice voice, Yuuri thinks absently. It kind of reminds him of something, or maybe someone, but he isn’t really sure _what._ For some reason, it kind of makes him think of pomegranate green tea. God, he could go for a cup of calming tea and some quiet right now.

“Mr. Katsuki, please. Look at me. Hey. Are you alright?”

He opens his eyes and blinks, trying to find his voice. That alone has Eternità letting out a breath of relief.

“Oh, thank god. It doesn’t look like a deep cut—it’s just a long scratch, really—but you had me worried for a minute there.”

“Oh,” Yuuri mumbles. He doesn’t feel very up for banter. “Sorry.”

 Eternità gives him an odd look. “It’s quite alright.”

He reaches up and there’s another flash, and then the shackles fall apart. Yuuri breathes a sigh of relief and finally lowers his aching arms, wincing in pain as he does. That’s going to be sore for the next few days, for sure. _Ugh._

Uncomfortably, he touches his throat. It stings, and his fingers come away red.

“Don’t worry,” Eternità murmurs. “There isn’t too much blood.”

“Oh,” Yuuri breathes again. He still feels a little dizzy, a little terrified. “Oh, my god.”

“Do you need to sit down for a moment?” Eternità asks. “Or do you want to go home? Or—well—back to work, I suppose. It’s always work with you.”

Work means people he’s familiar with, and getting away from here, and his office with the door he can close and hide behind to cry, so long as he’s quiet about it. And it means Phichit if he goes one floor down. Work is starting to sound better and better.

“Get me out of here,” he begs. “Please.”

“Of course,” Eternità murmurs. He wraps his arm around Yuuri’s waist and guides him to the door. “Get that cleaned up whenever you get there, alright? I don’t know if Marquis had anything on that dagger, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“Right,” Yuuri agrees, not really listening. “I will.”

“Good,” Eternità says. Yuuri wraps his arms around him like usual and squeezes his eyes shut, not wanting to see the ground grow smaller and smaller beneath them during the rush of flight—in his current mental state, he has a feeling he’d just burst into tears at the thought of falling to his death, even though he knows that logically, Eternità would never drop him.

Maybe it’s just his imagination, or maybe it’s the rush of the wind. He’s not really sure. But it almost seems like… well… he almost thinks he hears a whispered… something.

(Something like “I’m so sorry, Yuuri.”)

* * *

The red line across his throat doesn’t look as bad as it did earlier. Yuuri stares at it in the mirror with a familiar, odd sense of detachment that he knows from experience precedes some sort of breakdown, fidgeting with the slightly-bloodied alcohol wipe in his hand. It stings, but it’s small and shallow and it just—it’s not a big deal, it’s not, it’s not, it’s _not._

He could have died today, if Marquis had been a little clumsier. He could have _died._

A deep breath. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four.

Okay.

He just—he has to take this slowly, one step at a time. He just has to make it back to his office, that’s all. First step is to stop gripping the edges of the sink so tightly. Second step is to throw away the wipe. Third step is… third step… third…

Oh. Wash his hands. Yes. They aren’t dirty anymore, but washing them is calming. Cool water is soothing, grounding, comforting. And it lets him pretend his hands aren’t shaking. Or that he’s not shaking in general.

Maybe he should text Phichit. _Hi, I’m in the bathroom and I’m just going to have a panic attack and die, don’t mind me, please take care of Vicchan when I’m gone._

Ha. As if. He doesn’t want to distract him at work. Phichit doesn’t know if this time was any worse than before, and he knows Yuuri made it back to the building, so he probably thinks everything is fine. Yuuri shouldn’t trouble him.

He just needs to shut off the water, yes. Okay. And… and now he should dry his hands. And then throw away the paper towel. And… and now… and now he should take a step toward the door, and another, and now he should—can he open—yes, okay, the door is open. Now he needs to make it to his office. It’s not too far. He can make it there, right?

The few meters of hallways and open spaces that he has to navigate to make it back to the sanctuary of his office stretch out like thousands of miles across a desert full of shifting sands, treachery, and death, with each step dragging through molasses. His breath is sort of—it’s coming too sharply, like something violent in his throat, and faster than it should. Oh, god, he _can’t_ just start crying in front of the bathrooms!

Stumbling at first, Yuuri heads down the first hallway, turns a corner, keeps his head down as he hurries past a block of cubicles, and feels his eyes start to prickle with tears. Oh fuck, he’s about to cry, he can’t—he has to—

He ducks into the supply room, which is dark and blessedly empty, and hurriedly shuts the door, stumbles a few steps forward, and then sinks to his knees, choking on a sob. He—oh, god, what if someone walks in, what if someone’s printer is out of paper and they come to get some but just find him sitting here in the dark under a shelf full of it, does that even matter when _he could have died this morning,_ oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!

The next sob tears itself out of his throat painfully, as if it’s dragging shards of glass in its wake, and he hunches over, wrenching his glasses off and dropping them to the floor next to him. He can’t breathe. He wants to go home—no, he wants Phichit—he just doesn’t want to be alone, he can’t deal with this, he’s falling apart! But he can’t—he can’t go home, Vicchan will just get all worried and frantic and sad, and then Phichit will demand to know why he didn’t just say he needed help, and—and—

He can’t.

He just—he can’t.

The tears keep slipping out as he gasps and shudders, curling up tightly into himself under the table, and he presses the heels of his hands to his eyes in an attempt to stem the flood. It’s all in vain; with every quivering breath, the thin line across his throat stings again, reminding him of that one horrific moment when pain and fear exploded as the dagger slipped.

He could have _died._ He came this close—this close!—to not being here right now.

He can’t—he can’t do this—he—he—

_Click._

Horror overwhelms him and leaves him frozen, wide-eyed and absurdly guilty, as his worst nightmare comes true and the doorknob turns. The door swings open, and silhouetted in the light spilling in from the hallway is (of course! Because he can’t just embarrass himself in front of someone he doesn’t know, it has to be someone he likes!) Viktor.

Their eyes meet, and Viktor’s widen. Yuuri, unable to keep holding his breath, tries to inhale and ends up letting out a tiny little gasping whine that makes him clap a hand over his mouth, mortified.

“Yuuri,” Viktor breathes.

He doesn’t turn the supply room lights on. Instead, he just closes the door and lets the room plunge back into dimness, illuminated only by the frosted glass panel in the door, and comes forward.

“I’m s-sorry,” Yuuri blurts out. “Sorry, sorry…”

“Don’t be.” Viktor’s voice is a soft murmur, gentle and low, and to Yuuri’s surprise, he drops to his knees and crawls forward until he’s sitting under the supply table too, even though there isn’t much room. His knee brushes Yuuri’s thigh. “There’s nothing wrong with crying.”

“I—not here,” Yuuri protests weakly, dashing at his eyes with his aching hands. His wrists still hurt from the manacles digging into them, and that thought makes him sniffle all over again. “Supposed to—supposed to keep quiet. Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Viktor says immediately. “It’s alright. Can I sit with you?”

Yuuri is so startled that he actually stops crying for a second, blinking in surprise. “You want to?”

“Friends take care of each other,” Viktor says simply, shrugging. Yuuri stares at him for a moment that stretches on, long enough for Viktor to fidget with his tie. “I mean—sorry, I shouldn’t overstep my bounds. Is there anything I can do—”

“ _Thank you,_ ” Yuuri breathes, sniffling. “I—you… don’t have to, I’ll, I’ll be fine, I’m sorry, I…”

His ramblings get stopped in their tracks when something warm is draped about his shoulders, and he looks up from the floor so fast that he nearly slams his head into the underside of the table. Viktor’s jacket is wrapped around him, cozy and comforting and smelling faintly of the cologne that Viktor always wears to work, and it’s—it’s making Yuuri feel safer than a piece of fabric has any right to. It’s still warm from Viktor’s body, and that makes him clutch at it instinctively.

“There you go,” Viktor murmurs. His hand lingers between Yuuri’s shoulderblades for a moment before he withdraws. Yuuri kind of wants to slump forward and bury his face in his chest, but he’s petrified, too uncertain as to whether that would be welcome, so he hangs back and doesn’t. “Shh. It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

How is it that something he’s been trying to tell himself for the past half an hour sounds so much more convincing in Viktor’s voice? Why can’t he believe himself when his anxiety starts screaming at him?

_God,_ he’s been craving this feeling of safety all morning. He wants to let himself go, wants to be weak and cry and be held and taken care of, but he—he can’t. Can he?

“I,” he starts, wiping at his eyes again. “I, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Viktor murmurs. He reaches over very tentatively, and Yuuri watches his pale fingers wrap around his bruised wrist, gentle as a lullaby. “Oh, Yuuri. It’s okay. It’s okay now.”

He starts to rub little circles over Yuuri’s poor abused skin, so soft it could almost be called tender, and Yuuri swallows a gasp for a wholly different reason. Being touched like this— _Viktor_ touching him like this—is making his heart lift from the gutter it’s been wrenched down into, rising on hesitant little fluttery wings. He feels so very cared-for.

“Is this alright?” Viktor asks, his other hand taking Yuuri’s other wrist and guiding him to turn so that they’re sitting face-to-face, close enough that Yuuri could lean in and kiss him if he tried. Of course that would be wholly inappropriate, so he doesn’t, but he’d be lying if he said the thought doesn’t cross his mind.

It’s probably why his answer is a second late. “Y-yes.”

“Good.” Viktor smiles.

There’s something about his voice and the way he looks at him that makes Yuuri feel so _safe,_ and he has no idea why, but that feeling of safety lets him stop holding back the tears and just burst into a new round of sobs. Viktor lets out a little sound of distress.

“Yuuri—oh, no, no, please don’t cry, it’s alright, it’s okay, I promise—”

“I—I just need to cry,” Yuuri gasps out, squeezing his eyes shut. “S-sorry. You, you don’t have to stay…”

“Of course I’ll stay,” Viktor murmurs. His hands are gentle and warm as they keep massaging Yuuri’s wrists, and it feels divine. Yuuri cries a little harder and bows his head, finally giving in to the urge to seek comfort. His brow comes to rest against Viktor’s collarbone, their hands still joined under him, and Viktor lets out a little _oh,_ but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he just rests his cheek atop Yuuri’s head and leans into him a little, as if to hold him close.

_I could see myself loving you,_ Yuuri thinks helplessly, and cries some more.

Minutes flow past like water. Eventually, his sobs slow to sniffles, quiet in the dimness of the supply room. Viktor has one arm wrapped around his shoulders, the other still holding his wrists so tenderly Yuuri could cry all over again, and overall, he feels…

He feels safe.

They sit in silent for a few minutes longer, Viktor letting Yuuri lean into his chest and holding him close. The jacket is still wrapped around Yuuri’s shoulders, comforting and warm and just a little too big for him. He wants to go home—he wants to bring Viktor home, wants to curl up like this but closer, and just… and just be held, held and comforted, for a few hours or so. Until the tears and fright are all gone and he can get back to living like a functioning human being.

“Feeling a little better?” Viktor’s voice is soft, barely more than a murmur. Yuuri hardly moves in his embrace.

“Mm.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” Viktor murmurs, sighing with relief. “I’m glad.”

Yuuri swallows another pang of guilt—how long has he kept Viktor from his desk, impeding his work? “Sorry.”

“Hush,” Viktor reprimands, gentle but firm. “Staying with you was my choice, Yuuri. You have nothing to apologize for.”

Yuuri takes in a shaky breath. He can’t just apologize again, even though it’s his first instinct. “…Okay.”

Saying that out loud feels weird. Hopefully, it’s a good weird. It settles into his chest with surprisng ease, as if the idea of _not_ being guilty and ashamed for feeling bad is… managable. As if he’s actually allowed to feel like he can breathe, and it’s okay. Odd.

“Good.” Viktor smiles—Yuuri can hear it his voice, can almost feel it against his forehead. “Do you want to stay here a little longer? Or do you want to go to your office? Or mine?”

That’s three whole choices too many, and Yuuri feels himself shrinking in on himself at the thought of his own indecision. He doesn’t want to move, but with every minute that passes as they sit here, the higher the risk that someone else will walk in on them becomes, and he doesn’t think he’d survive the mortification of, say, Celestino himself finding him curled up in a teary mess under a table. “I… don’t know?”

“Okay,” Viktor hums pensively. “Mmm, how does this sound? We’ll go to the kitchen, I’ll make you some tea, and then we can go back to our offices, but if you’d like me to take my laptop and sit with you, or vice versa, that’s perfectly fine. Sound good?”

“I think so,” Yuuri whispers. His voice feels hoarse. Maybe he should go wash his face again. Gratitude suddenly swamps him, because Viktor found him as a pathetic mess in the dark and somehow _didn’t_ think him a complete and utter idiot. Viktor is taking care of him, even though he doesn’t have to, and despite what the guilt is saying, he’s doing it of his own volition. Yuuri clings to that last bit—he doesn’t _have_ to do this, but he _is._ “Thank you so much, Viktor, really, this means so much—”

“Anytime, Yuuri.” Viktor smiles again. “I mean it.”

“Oh,” Yuuri breathes, and then on impulse he flings both of his arms around Viktor’s waist and squeezes hard. It’s unprofessional, maybe, but no more so than crying into his shoulder for twenty minutes or however long he’s sat here sobbing for. “Thank you.”

Viktor hugs him back, tight as can be—he gives _such_ good hugs—and doesn’t let go until Yuuri starts to pull away himself, which makes it a little awkward because Yuuri takes several seconds to realize that Viktor is waiting on his cue to move, so it ends up being a longer hug than is strictly normal (then again, what about this situation is normal?). “You’re very welcome,” he says seriously, his eyes glimmering in the dim light. “I would never want you to suffer alone.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says again, because he’s an idiot who never knows what words to say when Viktor decides to be so incredibly nice to him. “I… thank you. A lot. Really.”

“You’re welcome.” Viktor quirks a wry smile at him as he repeats himself, then straightens up a little. “Well! Pomegranate green again, then?”

“That… that sounds good.” Yuuri’s voice is small, but he tries to smile back, hesitantly crawling out from under the table and picking up his glasses. Viktor smacks his head on its underside as he follows suit, yelping a curse, and Yuuri is startled into a tiny laugh.

Viktor keeps a hand on his elbow as they walk out of the supply room and down the hall. Yuuri doesn’t know if he means it to be supportive or protective or both (or neither), but he takes a surprising amount of comfort in that touch—it reminds him that he isn’t alone this time (that the quicksand is navigable because he isn’t crossing it on his own), and his steps are surer than they were before.

“So I know you like pomegranate green tea,” Viktor muses, after they stop at the bathrooms so Yuuri can wash his face and blow his nose. It’s all red and his eyes are blotchy and he feels ugly enough that it must be painfully obvious that he’s been crying, but Viktor passes no comment when they start walking again. “But do you like coffee much?”

“I do,” Yuuri says, trying to get his mind back in gear for small talk. “I more or less lived on it in college, but these days I don’t like it straight black.”

Viktor pulls a face. “Oh, me neither,” he laughs. “It’s too bitter! But I love strong espressos. Have you ever had the snickerdoodle latte at the Green Window Café? You know, the one two blocks down from here? It is to _die_ for.”

Yuuri shakes his head. “No, if I drink coffee it’s usually when I brew it at home or here. I haven’t really been going to that many coffeeshops lately. Sorry to disappoint.”

“That’s not a disappointment,” Viktor says, smiling brightly, and Yuuri wonders at him. He’s so radiant, especially in the light out here. “It means I can take you there to try it!”

Yuuri abruptly stops walking.

“Um.”

Viktor falters. “If—if you’d like that, I mean. I don’t mean to pressure you or anything.” He smacks his forehead. “In fact, I definitely shouldn’t have asked while you’re feeling down—what was I thinking? Sorry, Yuuri, you work with a complete moron, I’m afraid. Please, feel free to ignore that, I shouldn’t have said it—”

“Do you mean… you mean like a _date?”_ Yuuri squeaks out, his eyes widening behind his glasses. He clutches Viktor’s jacket a little more tightly around his shoulders like it’ll save him from his uncertainty, wonders if the world is spinning or if that’s just him, and hopes _fervently_ that he isn’t blushing.

“I, ah… did mean it like that, yes,” Viktor admits, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, “but you don’t need to—I mean, it just slipped out, I’m sorry. My timing is atrocious at best.”

Yuuri blinks at him.

_Oh my god. I’m going to have to tell Phichit I’m going on a date with Viktor,_ he realizes faintly.

“It isn’t bad timing…”

Viktor raises an eyebrow, looking a whole lot more uncertain now. Yuuri bites his lip, fretting, but forges on.

“I, um, actually, would love to go try snickerdoodle lattes with you, um, as, as a date?”

Viktor’s face lights up. “Oh!”

“And, um, also, having something nice to look forward to definitely helps me feel less, um, awful,” Yuuri adds, fidgeting with the jacket again as he stares at his feet. Oh, god, he’s wearing _Viktor’s jacket_ and talking to him about going on a _date,_ when just ten minutes ago he was sobbing his eyes out—he’s going to get whiplash after this, he swears—and suddenly, Mondays are a lot less hellish?

_“Oh,_ ” Viktor says, and then his hands are on Yuuri’s, just like they were a few minutes ago, except this time instead of caressing his wrists, Viktor is just holding his hands, beaming. “So, ah… tomorrow after work, maybe?”

“Tomorrow sounds good,” Yuuri nods, face pink. He squeezes Viktor’s hands back, though, then lets out a shaky breath. He has a date tomorrow. Marquis can’t touch him now, not when he has something solid and good to look forward to, and he is _going_ to enjoy tomorrow, even if he’s resigned today to being kind of shitty.

Although, ever since Viktor found him in the supply closet, it’s been a lot less shitty than he thought it would.

“Wonderful,” Viktor beams. “For now, tea?”

“Ah—yes.” Yuuri nods quickly, laughing to himself as he pulls himself back to reality. “Yes, tea sounds good. Thank you.”

Viktor gives him a smile brighter than the sun, the same one that he’s pretty sure will make him weak in the knees for the rest of time, even if he goes on fifty dates with the man or marries him and grows old with him and walks off into the sunset hand-in-hand with him—

Oh, god. Viktor asked him on _one date._ It’s a good thing he can’t read minds, because this is _embarrassing_ and it’s just in Yuuri’s head _._

There’s a little pink blush dusting Viktor’s cheeks, and his hand settles at the small of Yuuri’s back as they start walking to the kitchen again. Yuuri relishes the touch, the novelty of it, just everything; Viktor’s fingers send a little electric thrill all the way up his spine, brushing his back through the jacket—

Oh, _right._ Viktor’s jacket.

“I should—I should give this back,” Yuuri realizes with a pang, because he doesn’t really _want_ to let go of it yet (it’s warm and comforting and it smells like Viktor, and he is gay, please help him, someone), but it’s not his, so he _should._

“Oh, no, it’s fine, keep it on,” Viktor laughs, waving his free hand. “I want you to be cozy, and you certainly look it right now. You can give it back tomorrow, if you want.”

_If you want._ Is that supposed to imply that Yuuri can just _keep_ it?

(It’s the Boyfriend Jacket™, according to the miniature Phichit Chulanont in his head, but that’s far too embarrassing of a concept to be thinking about while walking next to Viktor himself, so Yuuri just stuffs it as far into the back of his mind as he can.)

“Ah—okay, I’ll, um, I’ll do that,” he says instead of anything embarrassing, thankfully. This time, when Viktor smiles at him, he smiles back.

(And if he happens to fall asleep that night while wrapped in that same jacket, curled up around Vicchan, well, Viktor doesn’t have to know about it.)

 

* * *

“I can’t believe after all your pining, _he_ asked _you_ out,” Phichit giggles (actually _giggles_ ). Yuuri presses his face into his hands.

“I know, _I know,_ it’s ridiculous,” he groans. Phichit’s hand descends to pat his head a few times before returning to its usual place at his phone, playing Fruit Ninja. “I can’t believe he was so _nice_ about yesterday, too. God. Phichit, I’m too gay for this. He’s too perfect.”

Phichit snorts. “Wasn’t one of the big reasons you fell for him in the first place that he’s really nice?”

“I mean—yeah,” Yuuri huffs, looking up again, “but that was like, as in, he got really excited about Vicchan and showed me pictures of his dog. But, y’know, that’s not the same as sitting under a table and holding me while I cry after a panic attack? He didn’t have to do that…”

Phichit sniffs. “Anyone who _wouldn’t_ take care of you during shitty situations is not someone who deserves to date you, Yuuri, and I hope you know that.”

“I know, I know,” Yuuri sighs. “Plus, I mean, it’s just one date, I don’t know if he wants to actually be my _boyfriend…_ ”

The laugh that Phichit lets out is nothing short of devious. “ _Well,_ I’m just saying, you guys did already get to fourth base, so, like…”

Yuuri yelps, suddenly wondering whether he did anything stupid (while drunk, maybe), and just doesn’t remember it. “ _Fourth_ base?!”

Phichit grins. “Anxiety?”

_Ugh._ “I hate you.”

“Love ya too, dingus,” Phichit says cheerfully. “Anyway, here comes Prince Charming himself, so I’ll see you around! Use protection and all that, be safe!”

_“Phichit!”_ Yuuri screeches, face red. Of _course_ he’d say that as soon as Viktor turns the corner and comes into earshot of the lobby—Yuuri is going to murder him one day, he swears, or even worse, revoke his Vicchan privileges!

Phichit, awful bestie that he is, just laughs as he waves and walks away, leaving Yuuri with Prince Charming—uh, Viktor.

“Well.” Viktor is clearly amused, smiling easily as he looks down at Yuuri. Yuuri quickly hops up from his bench and holds out the jacket, still embarrassed. “Someone seems to have expectations.”

“Please never listen to a word he says,” Yuuri sighs. “He lives to embarrass me in front of—I mean, um. Just in general.”

“In front of your dates?” Viktor asks brightly (brightly enough that Yuuri could just melt into the ground. In fact, he’d very much like to). “And thank you for the jacket,” he adds, taking it and smoothly changing the topic (thankfully) before Yuuri has to answer that awful, awful question. “Though I think it looked good on you.”

He winks, and Yuuri almost does melt on the spot.

“Um. Café. Coffee? Coffee sounds good,” he says before he turns into a pile of mush, wondering where his brain has gone. “Right? You wanted me to try the, um, snicker—snickerdoodle latte?”

“Yes!” Viktor grins brightly. “Let’s go, it’s wonderful and I think it’s quite a travesty that you haven’t had one yet. Come, come!”

He takes Yuuri’s hand easily, and Yuuri feels his embarrassment start to vanish again. Yes, Viktor _is_ incredibly, unfairly beautiful, but he’s also just easy to be around, and adorable when talking about dogs like they did a few months ago, which was actually probably the point when Yuuri started crushing on him to begin with. Being around him, talking to him, it’s not actually hard.

“So… are you feeling okay now?” Viktor’s voice is lower, more serious, and he glances down at Yuuri with nothing but pure concern. They had tea together during lunch today, too, and Yuuri admitted to having nightmares last night, but during the afternoon hours, both of them were too busy for small talk.

Yuuri smiles at him reassuringly. “Yeah, I think so. I’m, um, I won’t say _completely_ over it, but a lot more okay than I was yesterday.”

“That’s good,” Viktor says, relieved, and squeezes Yuuri’s hand. “Glad to hear it.”

“Thanks for asking,” Yuuri mumbles, looking at his feet for a moment as he squeezes back. This is nice. Really nice. He _likes_ holding hands. “How are you?”

“I’m alright!” Viktor offers a wry little smile. “Did I tell you Makkachin attempted to murder me the other day? She went between my legs right as I was getting out of bed, I fell over and I have this huge bruise on my leg from smacking it on the footboard. I swear she was laughing at me.”

Vicchan has done similar things, and Yuuri can’t quite stifle a laugh, even though he’s _trying_ to be sympathetic. It comes out as a muffled little giggle, half covered by his hand.

Viktor stops walking.

“Yuuri,” he says, and Yuuri would worry that he’s mad about being laughed at, except his voice is full of breathless wonder. His free hand reaches up, takes Yuuri’s, and pulls it away from his face. Yuuri feels himself blushing all over again. “Don’t do that.”

“D-do what?”

“Hide it when you laugh,” Viktor says. “I like seeing you laugh.”

_Oh._ He stares at a point on Viktor’s shoulder for a moment, trying to get his faltering heart back in line, and then huffs. “I swear you’re just trying to make me blush at this point.”

Viktor’s answering grin is somewhere between sheepish and unrepentant. “Well. You’ve caught me. But it’s not my fault that you’re very cute when flustered.”

Yuuri sticks out his tongue, very maturely, seizes his hand, and starts marching them both down the sidewalk again. “That’s it, you owe me coffee today! You have to make up all this teasing to me _somehow!”_

Viktor lets out a delighted laugh. “Of course! The coffee date was my idea, after all.”

“I’ll pay for the next one,” Yuuri informs him, before he goes and gets any silly concepts in his head. Then he immediately slaps a hand over his mouth for assuming there would _be_ a next one. “I mean. Um. If you want… us to have a next one or anything…”

Viktor gives him an odd look. “Of course I do,” he says. “Do you not? We’ve only just started this one…”

“Yes, I do!” Yuuri huffs again. “I just didn’t want to assume, that’s all!”

“Oh,” Viktor says, and then breaks into another bright, gorgeous smile. “Well. I guess we can do Thursday after work, if you want.”

“That sounds good,” Yuuri says lamely, like the lame idiot he is. “Thursday. Right.”

Viktor just laughs and squeezes his hand again.

They eventually find themselves seated at a table by a window, tucked near the back of the café in a little alcove. It’s cozy in here, all warm browns and oranges and golds, and the latte in front of Yuuri is, admittedly, pretty damn good. It’s all cinnamon and caramel swirls, a little sweet for his tastes but still delicious, and Viktor is clearly very pleased with himself. It’s actually kind of adorable, not that Yuuri’s going to _tell_ him that.

“What are you smiling like that for?” Viktor asks, leaning forward. He has his chin propped up on one hand, leaning over the table, and the late-afternoon sunlight slanting in through the window lights his hair up in gold.

“You’re really cute,” Yuuri blurts out. He has to congratulate himself on _not_ slapping his hand over his mouth again this time, though maybe taking a quick gulp of coffee isn’t really a better alternative.

However, he does have the advantage of being the one to make Viktor blush this time—it’s a rosy pink hue, rising in his cheeks and spreading all the way to the tips of his ears and down his neck. Yuuri is both vindicated in his revenge and assaulted by a surge of incredible affection as Viktor gapes at him, blinking.

“I—no, that’s _you!”_ he protests, but Yuuri is already laughing helplessly. “Yuuri!”

“Sorry! I just—it’s _true,_ but you just looked so surprised—how could I _not_ laugh?” Yuuri giggles into his hands. He tries to calm himself down by sipping his latte again, but just starts laughing all over again and almost spills it all over himself for his troubles.

Viktor reaches across the table, his fingers curving around Yuuri’s jaw, and swipes his thumb gently across the tip of his nose. Yuuri freezes.

“You had foam on your nose,” Viktor explains, then licks his thumb.

Yuuri’s brain short-circuits for half a second.

“…Oh.”

Viktor winks.

Oh. _Oh._ He’s just trying to make him blush again. Yuuri narrows his eyes and playfully wags a finger at him, and Viktor grins. He’s so silly and fun-loving, Yuuri is realizing—he tones this side of himself down at work. Which is understandable, given that they’re at an office, but wow… Yuuri wants to see him relaxed like this more often.

Like on Thursday.

Which reminds him…

“So, um… don’t take this the wrong way,” he says, staring down at the slice of coffee cake between them, “but why do you want to date _me_ of all people? I mean… there are definitely people who are less, um, high-maintenance than the guy who keeps getting kidnapped, you know? I just… are you _sure?”_

He doesn’t want to get used to this, if he’s honest. Not when he feels like it’s a little bit _too_ good to be true. Viktor asking him out was already a complete shock, but as fun as this is, can it last? Yuuri _still_ doesn’t know how Phichit hasn’t gotten too stressed out to handle being friends with him. Who can tell if Viktor would?

Because he’s—he’s not looking for a fling, or anything. Maybe he’s a stupid romantic, but he only wants to date if it’s for a relationship that’ll _last._ Not for anything frivolous or low-commitment. He’s serious about this, first date or not. Is that a weird way to be thinking about this? Maybe. He might also be overthinking this. Um.

Viktor is looking at him oddly, not like he’s offended but more like he’s _pensive._ Yuuri takes a breath and waits.

“Well,” Viktor finally says, “I could make you a comprehensive list of reasons I like you. If that would make you feel better. But if you’re asking whether I’m serious about you, then my answer to that, Yuuri, that’s a yes. Of course I am. Even if you’d turned me down for this date today, I would still—I’d want to be there for you like I was yesterday, if I could. Because we’re friends, right? Whether we’re dating or not?”

Blinking back sudden tears that prick at his eyes, Yuuri reaches across the table for his hand and squeezes it tightly between both of his own. “I… yeah. Yeah, we are. Thank you, Viktor, I, um, I think I just needed to hear you say it out loud, sorry if it sounded like I was doubting you, I’m…”

“No, no, I know,” Viktor says, smiling slightly. “I guessed. When you told me about the anxiety disorder last month I, um, kind of went home and looked it up?”

Yuuri stares at him. “So _that’s_ why you knew what to do with me yesterday,” he breathes, the pieces clicking into place. “No _wonder.”_

“I hope that doesn’t seem creepy,” Viktor says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck like he did yesterday. “I just thought, if there was ever an occasion when you needed help, I wanted to know how to be there for you, and I guess it kind of came in handy yesterday?”

“It did,” Yuuri says, incredibly touched. “I can’t believe you did that… just for me?”

“Well, yes,” Viktor says, and laughs. “Though in retrospect, I’m realizing I could have just asked you, couldn’t I?”

Yuuri smiles. “You can ask me anything you want,” he says. “Because I’m serious, too.”

Viktor’s answering smile is as bright as the sun.

 

* * *

Time passes, and a first date becomes a second and a third and a fourth, until the numbers fade away and Yuuri doesn’t actually remember how many dates they’ve been on. What he does know, and what still makes him smile giddily every time he thinks about it, is that he has a _boyfriend._

It’s Saturday, and he’s on the subway, making his way to Viktor’s apartment, when the news breaks that Hypervolt is ransacking a mall downtown, wanting the top storey for something or other, has a hapless cashier held hostage, and has knocked out power in a radius of five city blocks from the point. Subway service past there is down as a result.

He sighs.

It’s _Saturday._ He’s not even supposed to be working today.

But the stop near Viktor’s place is on the other side of the miniature blackout, which means he couldn’t get there right now anyway. And it’s not like he’s just gonna turn around and go back home to Phichit and say “Yeah, nope” and faceplant into a pillow, however enticing that option does sound.

He sighs again. But as the subway draws to a final stop, downtown near the mall, and the overhead speakers announce that it will be turning around and going back the way it came instead of continuing on, he squares his shoulders.

There’s a flood of panicked people all rushing to get onto the train as soon as the doors open; Yuuri pushes his way through and gets off, heads through the crowd until he gets to the stairs, and takes them two at a time. Then he texts Viktor—

[11:34] Yuuri:  
looks like i’m gonna be late for lunch today. :/  
we could make it dinner instead?

—and stuffs his phone back in his pocket, then takes off at a brisk walk, heading against the tide of people leaving the area. Of course this news would break while he’s already right here. Of _course._ Because he just can’t have a nice Saturday luncheon with his boyfriend without Hypervolt ruining _everything._

Ugh.

It’s a few blocks to the mall, and Yuuri has to put his people-dodging skills to good use to get there without getting run down by the throng a few times. Lightning shoots out from the top floor once or twice, cracking into the blue sky, and he narrows his eyes. What is Hypervolt _doing?_

No matter, he’ll find out soon enough. Hypervolt might not monologue as much as Marquis, but they could definitely give each other a run for their money.

He gets to the mall, though he has to push the usually-automatic doors open himself, and enters. It’s empty—all the civilians in here must have already fled—and walking about the big, open spaces, all devoid of people, is more than a little eerie. His steps echo all around, and he catches his reflection in display cases in abandoned storefronts. Eerie.

Checking the news again, he reaffirms that Hypervolt still seems to be on the top floors, and then sighs when he realizes that means that the elevators and escalators won’t be working. Looks like he’s getting a leg workout today.

Viktor has texted back, at least, which puts a smile on his face as he starts to walk up the nearest stationary escalator.

[11:40] Vitya:  
D: D: D: D: D:  
Stay safe!!!!!!!!

[11:42] Yuuri:  
u know me, always safe in supervilliain situations, yup  
this mall is so empty its weird, malls without anyone in them are kinda creepy  
(please don’t worry i’ll be fine)

Eventually, he makes it all the way to the seventh floor, grumbling to himself all the while as he climbs, and takes a second to catch his breath and get ready. Then he squares his shoulders again, reminds himself to keep his chin up and his voice steady, and eyes the big department store across from him, where light is flashing ominously in the depths. That’s probably Hypervolt.

Well, he’s already gotten this far. Turning back now just because he’s nervous would be stupid. Besides, Hypervolt is usually not _that_ bad to deal with…

He strides forward before he can change his mind, directly into the store and heading toward the lights. The hair on the back of his neck stands up, and when he happens to touch a display case, it shocks him (everything shocks him when Hypervolt is involved, because Hypervolt’s stupid superpowers just have stupid static side effects) and he lets out an involuntary yip, startled.

Immediately, the lights stop flashing, and everything is plunged into darkness. It takes Yuuri’s eyes a few seconds of rapid blinking to adjust to the sudden lack of light; now, the only source of it is the windows on the far end of the store.

“Who’s there?” Hypervolt demands, voice booming. “Show yourself! If you don’t do exactly as I say, what happens next will _shock_ you! Or, actually, this cashier!”

“Really?” Yuuri deadpans. He walks around the case, stumbles over a piece of cloth (maybe a shirt?) on the floor, and narrowly avoids falling on his face as he squints and heads for the light. “It’s just me, Hypervolt. Katsuki, the reporter.”

When he turns a corner around a set of mannequins, he finds what he’s looking for. Hypervolt has some weird contraption set up, plugged into the walls at several different outlets, and it’s pointed at the window toward Town Hall. Yuuri purses his lips. Where is…

Ah.

There is the hostage—the cashier, yes—standing bound to one of the decorative pillars in the store. Her eyes are wide and terrified; Yuuri feels for her, and that more than anything fuels his determination to see this through. His sister would probably call that “stupid idealistic heroism”, but he would never disagree that idealism has always been one of his fatal flaws.

He sighs once more, then calls out.

“Hey! Hypervolt! You know the usual, me for her. Let’s just get this over with.”

The supervillain turns around, spots him, and then grins. “Katsuki! You showed up fast. I’m surprised!”

“Yeah, well, I happened to be in the area,” Yuuri says, impatient. “Let her go already, please.”

“Ah, well. You take her place first,” Hypervolt tuts. “Over to the pillar now. You know the drill.”

Yuuri does. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t wonder (again) how the _hell_ this became his life as he walks over, gives the girl what he hopes is a reassuring smile, and places his back to the pillar. He’s a little afraid Hypervolt won’t let her go after getting him here, but in the past, she’s held her word.

Hypervolt waves her hand, and the copper wires wrapped around the girl fall away, leaping onto Yuuri like he’s a magnet. They wrap around his arms, pinning them to his sides, and then all the way around the pillar, too, fastening tightly enough that he can hardly breathe. Anxiety starts to coil in his gut all over again. He wants to pull out his phone again, wants to text Viktor, wants to not be _here…_

Great.

 Eternità better get here soon.

The girl stands frozen for a minute, and with effort, Yuuri swallows his own panic and nods at the darkened exit. “Go on,” he says. “You’re free. Get out of here.”

“Th-thank you,” she stammers out, hesitating. There’s enough relief in her eyes to remind him of why he does this every time there’s villain attacks that take hostages—it’s horrifying and so scary, so if anyone has to suffer it might as well be him. “Are—are you going to be alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” Yuuri promises, even though he doesn’t feel particularly fine at the moment. God, Hypervolt always ties him up with wires. It makes _sense,_ given her ferrokinetic abilities, but it’s so much worse, somehow, than rope. Maybe because rope isn’t quite so cutting when strained against. At least she doesn’t like to gag him like Scorcher does. “You should go.”

“You should,” Hypervolt agrees, sparks at her fingertips. “I don’t really have a need for you around here anymore, now that Katsuki has handed himself over so kindly, so…”

The girl pales, turns on her heel, and flees without another word. Her panicked footsteps echo off into the darkness.

“That was unnecessary,” Yuuri mutters, more to himself than to Hypervolt. It’s mostly because sarcasm is something of a coping mechanism, and complaining his way through hostage situations tends to make him panic a little less. He thinks of Viktor again, thinks about curling up on the couch with Makkachin and tucking his head into the crook of Viktor’s neck and talking about his day, and reminds himself that he can do that this evening. He just has to wait around for Eternità to get here, fight Hypervolt off, and then he can go.

“Maybe so,” Hypervolt agrees, “but it sure was funny!”

She cackles and turns back to her … machine. Yuuri eyes it.

“What’s that for?”

Hypervolt gives him a look. “Do I look like Marquis to you? I’m not gonna monologue. I have shit to do, Katsuki.”

“You say that, but you started talking like a clickbait article a minute ago,” Yuuri points out. “Which means you’re clearly in a good mood. Why _not_ tell me what that thing is? Why does it need to be on the top floor?”

“I’m maximizing gravitational potential as well as allowing myself a clear line of sight,” Hypervolt sniffs. “Now shut it, before I get the electrical tape out.”

Yuuri swallows the rest of his words, curses his stupid heroic ideas again, and slumps forward, hanging his head. The wire hurts. He wants to go home. Why did he do this again?

Hypervolt’s machine makes a weird whirring noise, and Yuuri lifts his head again, squinting at it in the gloom. There are a few glowing dials and gauges that Hypervolt seems to be observing, her fingers twisting a knob here and there or adjusting a lever or slider. It’s fascinating, even if he’s pretty sure it spells nothing but bad news, and he kind of wants to ask how it works again, but Hypervolt doesn’t joke about her electrical tape, as he’s learned in the past. And if push comes to shove, he wants to be able to shout warnings to Eternità.

Minutes drag past, agonizingly slow, until something in the distance goes _thump._

Both Yuuri and Hypervolt freeze.

“Who’s there?” Hypervolt yells into the gloom, making the lights flicker a few times just to be disorienting. “I have Katsuki, and unless you show yourself and surrender, he’s going to suffer some _shocking_ consequences!”

“You already _used_ that line,” Yuuri groans, trying to cover up the horrible flash of fear in his stomach. Of the three major supervillains in the area, Hypervolt is the most _ruthless._ Scorcher is obnoxious, Marquis is sleazy, and Hypervolt is actually terrifying. Marquis would never threaten Eternità with torturing Yuuri, but Hypervolt? Not only would she, but she just _did._

He thinks, for just a moment, about how awful it would be, how easily Hypervolt could just wave her hand and send a jolt of electricity through the wires wrapped around his body, with an amperage not high enough to be fatal but certainly high enough to hurt. Then he has to shove those thoughts away quickly, because he can feel his heart rate quickening already, and he does _not_ need a panic attack in the middle of trying to get rescued.

“I can use that line as many times as I want to, Katsuki,” Hypervolt growls, still scanning the store. “Shut it.”

Yuuri shuts it.

He stares into the flickering light and gloom of the empty store, squinting, and has to swallow a gasp and carefully school his expression into a neutral one when he spots Eternità, hiding behind a rack of clothing. Eternità notices him looking, catches his eye, and winks behind his mask. Yuuri rolls his eyes.

That seems to satisfy Eternità, because he turns his attention to Hypervolt, who doesn’t seem to have noticed him yet. Yuuri tries to turn this situation over in his mind. Hypervolt will notice Eternità and either shock Yuuri to prove her point about how Eternità should have turned himself in, or they’ll talk for a minute, and then she’ll shock Yuuri. Either outcome puts Eternità at a marked disadvantage, because he might be a lighthearted flirt, but Yuuri knows he’s a good person, obviously, and he wouldn’t want Yuuri getting hurt. He needs to have the element of surprise for this to work.

Can Yuuri give that to him?

“H-hey,” he says into the gloom. “Hypervolt.”

Shit. Shit! What is he doing? She already told him to keep quiet!

“ _What,_ Katsuki?” Hypervolt snarls “Do you _want_ to taste electrical tape? Because you damn well can!”

Wait. Ferrokinesis doesn’t work on electrical tape— _obviously_ it doesn’t! In the past she’s always had to slap it on him manually! And that would mean she would have to turn her back on the room at large—and on Eternità.

“I’m not saying I want to taste it!” Yuuri says quickly, maybe a little too quickly. “I’m just saying I still want to know how that thing works. What do you even call it? If I have to be stuck here I might as well do my job as a reporter, you know. Can’t you just answer a couple of questions here and there?”

“Katsuki,” Hypervolt growls, her voice low and rumbly in warning. Yuuri steels himself. “You’re getting on my last nerve. Better watch yourself, or else you might regret it.”

“Look, I like this about as much as you do,” he says, willing his voice not to waver. Eternità looks at him with wide eyes, clearly having figured out what he’s doing, but Yuuri can’t take his gaze away from the device, not if he wants to make sure he doesn’t give Eternità away. “So if we both have to be stuck with each other and hate it, you could at _least_ make this a little more worthwhile for me? Please?”

“You don’t have any bargaining power, Katsuki,” Hypervolt threatens, rolling her eyes. “Shut up. Now. Someone is here, and if you’re just trying to buy time for Eternità, you will _regret it._ ”

“M-me? Would I ever do that?” Yuuri laughs, a little strangled and a little high-pitched. Hypervolt won’t _kill_ him, but the threat of pain or bodily harm is still more than a little intimidating. He hopes Eternità realizes how much faith he’s putting in him right now. “I’m just trying to do my job!”

“Alright. That’s it.” Hypervolt slams her hand down on the side of the control panel, clearly aggrieved, and stomps over to Yuuri, who yelps and ducks away as if he has any hope of actually avoiding her while tied to a damn pillar. He puts on a good show, though, and the moment her back is turned, there’s a blur of fuchsia in the corner of his vision.

 Eternità slams into Hypervolt with the force of a train, bulldozing her away from Yuuri and knocking into the machine. She snarls ferociously and wires rip through the air from the pile coiled at its base, lunging for Eternità; Yuuri calls out a useless warning as the hero ducks away.

“You!” Hypervolt sneers. “I knew you’d show up to collect your pesky little reporter. Katsuki! I warned you—”

“He has nothing to do with this,” Eternità interrupts, eyes blazing with all the fierceness of a winter storm. “My business is with you, and yours is with me. Mr. Katsuki is an unfortunate bystander.”

“A bystander,” Hypervolt repeats. The cables binding Yuuri to the pillar stretch and pull, and he gasps in pain when they constrict a little too tight. “I could plug these into the wall right now, and he’d be more of a _fry_ stander, unless you stand down, Eternità.”

 Eternità’s mouth thins into a hard line, and Yuuri’s anxiety spikes. “Oh, I don’t think so.”

He raises a hand, and there’s a flash of light, and Yuuri squeezes his eyes shut because he’s helpless, he can’t move or do anything to affect the outcome of this fight, and if he’s going to be hurt he doesn’t want to see it coming and freak himself out more, and…

He opens his eyes a few seconds later, unable to keep himself in the dark, and sees Eternità and Hypervolt trading blows on the other side of the machine, Hypervolt clearly trying to defend it from Eternità. She lands a blow and knocks him back into another pillar, and Yuuri winces when he gets up again, favoring one leg. His heart is in his throat, his voice paralyzed with fear—he doesn’t dare call out and be a distraction now.

Oh, god, he wants to go home and curl up with Vicchan and Viktor and feel safe.

Dinner. Tonight. Viktor’s place. Soon, he will be held and comforted and Makkachin will lick his ankles and make him laugh while Viktor hugs him and rocks him back and forth as they stand in the kitchen watching the soup simmer on the stove.

Clinging to that thought, he forces himself to keep watching, all the way through the excruciating minutes that drag on like hours. It ends with Eternità fires a blast of magic that catches Hypervolt in the chest, slamming her back into her own machine hard enough that it breaks in half, leaving her lying in the rubble, dazed.

Immediately, the store lights flicker back on. Eternità weaves his usual spell that traps Hypervolt down before she can get back up, then hurries to Yuuri, his arms already outstretched to the wires. There’s another flash of magical light, and then the thick cables and wires fall away, smoking from where they were cut. Yuuri almost sobs in relief as his chest screams in pain, now that he can actually take a proper breath.

“Mr. Katsuki.” Eternità inclines his head smoothly. “You’re alright, yes?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri wheezes. “Nothing worse than the usual.”

 Eternità smiles, relieved. Yuuri looks up at him for a moment and thinks, _There’s something about your voice,_ but it’s a fleeting thought that he can’t pin down, and in his current state of confusion he lets it go.

“So,” Eternità says. “Home, then? Or can I finally take you out for coffee—or tea—like you said?”

Yuuri squeaks, dismayed, as color rushes to his face. “I—I’m sorry, but I have a boyfriend!”

 Eternità blinks, as if he forgot something maybe, or just seriously didn’t expect that because maybe he thought Yuuri was too much of a mess to have a boyfriend (an assessment Yuuri would agree with, but one that his dear Vitya would not). Then he lets out a delighted, merry laugh, and all Yuuri’s fears of _is he going to be angry that I turned him down?_ melt away.

“Of course,” he says. “I’m happy for you. So, home?”

“Um, actually, I was… on my way to visit him for lunch, though I guess it might be dinner now, I don’t know,” Yuuri says, a little shy. Then he pauses, earnest. “ Eternità, listen. He and I, we’re coworkers, so we both know how much you’ve done for me, and we’re very grateful, so… if you’d like to stay over and eat with us…”

 Eternità looks so comically frozen in surprise that Yuuri feels a real pang. Has nobody ever shown him this simple kind of kindness before?

“Ah—that’s very sweet of you,” he says after a moment, “but I, ah, am afraid I have a commitment tonight, myself, actually. I appreciate the thought, however! Do, um, thank your boyfriend for me, too.”

A little disappointed that he can’t get Viktor to meet Eternità, Yuuri nods. He has a feeling his Vitya would be very excited at the opportunity, but if Eternità can’t make it, that’s that. The last thing he wants to do is push someone who’s already done so much for him!

“Of course. Should I just tell you where to drop me off, then, or… I mean, I can get there myself, I was on my way there when I heard the news from here anyway…”

 Eternità hesitates. Then he shrugs. “I can drop you off, if you’d like. It’s no trouble for me. I like flying, Mr. Katsuki, and carrying you is never unpleasant.”

Yuuri ducks his head. “Ah… thank you?”

He tells Eternità where to go, but not before Eternità renews the spell on Hypervolt (Yuuri watches him do it, wide-eyed at his powers but silent. He knows the reason Eternità only uses it at the end of fights is that it’s difficult to cast and needs a few seconds and some concentration), takes some photographs of the machine (which Yuuri does too), and then breaks it completely, so that Hypervolt’s plans will have to be set back. After that, they end up in the sky again, soaring in a familiar position as the city drifts by below.

 Eternità drops him off on Viktor’s rooftop with very little need for guidance, which Yuuri applauds—he must have a good sense of direction!—bids him farewell, and vanishes. Yuuri makes his way to the stairwell door, tired and sore from being squeezed by wires, and calls Viktor.

“Hello? Yuuri? Oh my god, are you okay? Makkachin and I have been watching the news, we’ve been so worried about you, but the livestreams say Eternità left the area so—”

“I’m halfway down the stairs from your roof,” Yuuri interrupts, unable to stop himself from smiling at the genuine, sweet concern in his boyfriend’s voice. “Open the door in five?”

“I’ll do you one better than that,” Viktor says, and hangs up. Less than two minutes later, as he continues hobbling down the stairs, a door opens and then footsteps echo, and Viktor hurtles around the corner to sweep him into a gentle, gentle hug right there on the landing.

Yuuri melts into him. God, he’s been wanting this all afternoon. He has on a soft cream-colored sweater and it smells like heaven, and he’s pretty sure the second they settle down on the couch, he’s going to pass out and fall asleep on Viktor’s shoulder.

“Hi, you,” he mumbles into the sweater, arms winding around Viktor’s waist. His poor sore ribs appreciate the softness of this hug, and he sighs contentedly as Viktor kisses the top of his head.

“Hi, solnyshko.” Viktor rubs his back, his touch still blessedly gentle. “How are you?”

Yuuri lets out a deep sigh and tucks his face into Viktor’s neck in lieu of a response. He loves being held like this. He doesn’t know exactly why, but every time Viktor holds him, he automatically feels incredibly, wonderfully safe.

Viktor chuckles, resting his cheek against Yuuri’s hair. “Alright. Hugs it is.”

They stand there like that for a moment, and Yuuri takes his time breathing slow and deep. His chest still hurts from the cables, but he doesn’t think it’s a serious injury; probably some bruises, if anything, but he’ll be fine. It’s just annoying in the moment. But Viktor is warm and soft and his arms are inviting and safe, and Yuuri can finally start to relax now that he’s wrapped up in them, pressed close against his boyfriend’s chest.

All too soon, though, Viktor starts to withdraw, tipping Yuuri’s chin up with one hand to press a lingering kiss to his forehead.

“Alright, luchik,” he says, making Yuuri’s insides turn to complete and utter mush again (can he be blamed when Viktor’s voice gets so warm and gooey every time he pulls out another Russian pet name?) as he smiles, fingers brushing Yuuri’s cheek. “Let’s go. Makkachin is waiting to see you, too.”

“Mm.” Yuuri nods, leans in to peck Viktor’s cheek, and takes his hand as they start to walk down the steps. Viktor holds the door open for him, then leads the way down the hallway to his apartment, where he holds that door open too. Yuuri kisses him for it. “You’re sweet.”

“You’re sweeter,” Viktor says, beaming, then turns to close and lock the door. Yuuri greets Makkachin in the meantime, laughing as she jumps up and almost knocks him over. He winces when her paws connect with his chest, pushing him backward, but he rubs her ears and coos affectionate words to her anyway. It’s not like she knows any better!

Viktor is quick to call her down, though, which he’s grateful for. It’s almost as if he knows Yuuri is all achey and probably bruised to hell and back. Yuuri could kiss him again.

“Do you want some tea, pryanichek? Or food? You haven’t had lunch yet, have you?” Viktor pauses in the middle of the room, halfway to the kitchen. He looks concerned and a little upset, Makkachin sitting at his feet but still watching Yuuri.

Yuuri considers it—tea and food both sound good, yes—but in lieu of making a decision, he just crosses the rug and tucks himself into Viktor’s arms again. He still wants _comfort._ Hypervolt threatened to torture him earlier. He doesn’t particularly want to think about that, but he does want to be held until he feels more secure.

“Oh,” Viktor says, laughing softly, and he nuzzles his face into Yuuri’s hair again. Makkachin walks herself around their legs a few times as Viktor holds him close, laying his cheek against his head just like he was in the stairwell, and sighs. “Oh, my poor Yuurochka. What a long day you’ve had.”

The pet name once again sinks into Yuuri’s chest and fills him up with sugary, rich warmth, soothing him to the core. Viktor, he’s discovered, absolutely _loves_ showering him in nicknames and words of love, ones he sometimes traces into Yuuri’s palm while they watch movies together. Yuuri loves when he does that, loves leaning over to ask in a hushed voice _what did you spell just now, what does it mean,_ loves hearing Viktor speak Russian the same way Viktor loves listening to him speak Japanese. When Yuuri started talking to Makkachin the same way he talks to Vicchan, not really thinking about it, Viktor clapped his hands to his cheeks and gasped aloud in delight.

Just thinking about their fond memories and good times together makes Yuuri relax a little more, melting a bit further into Viktor’s arms. Viktor nuzzles his hair again, murmuring sweet nothings as he does, and Yuuri feels his lips curve into a smile. God, this man makes him weak in all the best ways.

“Do you want to sit down, lapochka?”

“Mmm.” Yuuri presses a tiny little shy kiss to his neck, not wanting to move away, and hums indecisively. Sitting down does sound good, but so does continuing to hug Viktor. He feels so _safe._

“Yuurasha,” Viktor coos. “Okay. Let’s sit for a minute. I’ll make you tea and get some snacks, and then we can cuddle for a little while and make food. Sound good?”

Yuuri hums again. “We’re making food?”

Viktor laughs sheepishly. “Well… most of it is ready, but after I saw the news and knew what was happening to you, I, ah… got too distracted and I didn’t end up finishing everything?”

Oh, god, what a _sweetheart._ Distracted just because he was so worried about Yuuri? Oh, he’s too good, too good. Yuuri can’t help but squeeze him a little tighter, nuzzling his neck. “You’re sweet.”

A chuckle rumbles in Viktor’s chest. “You say that after I manage to not have food for you ready and waiting even though it’s much later than we agreed on having lunch?”

“Yes,” Yuuri insists, because he _is_ sweet and that’s the truth. “…Do you wanna stay in instead of going to the movies tonight?”

“I think that sounds like a fantastic idea,” Viktor agrees, kissing his hair. He rubs his back some more, then withdraws to hold him by the shoulders and look him in the eye. “You’re sure you’re okay this time, solnyshko?”

“I’m okay,” Yuuri promises, smiling up at him. He lays one of his hands over Viktor’s, once again touched by how concerned and gentle he is, and then loops his arms around his neck, leans in, and kisses him as tenderly as he can. Viktor immediately kisses him back, his lips still tasting like his fancy strawberry lip balm, and Yuuri lets out a little noise of contentment into his mouth. Viktor is a good kisser, and Yuuri thoroughly enjoys kissing him, even if saying so out loud would definitely make him blush redder than the roses on the table.

“I’m glad,” Viktor murmurs when they pull apart.

Makkachin nudges her way between their legs before either of them can say anything else (or kiss the other again), and laughter bubbles up in Yuuri’s chest as she huffs up at him, clearly wanting in on the affection. He’s about to squat down and hug her, too, when she steps on Viktor’s foot, and he hisses in pain.

Yuuri blinks. “Vitya?”

Viktor laughs a little awkwardly. “It’s nothing, pryanichek. I’m fine. I just managed to trip over thin air and smack my ankle into the corner earlier. It got a little swollen, I’m afraid—Makkachin must be laughing at me for being so clumsy.”

“If it’s swollen you should be icing it!” Yuuri reprimands immediately, abandoning Makkachin’s fluffy ears for the moment to steer his boyfriend to the couch and push him down. “And you definitely shouldn’t be running up stairwells like that! I could’ve walked the rest of the way down, you silly—”

“I wanted to see you,” Viktor says plaintively, looking up with sad puppy eyes that he _must_ have learned from Makkachin. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Yuuri stops in the middle of his fussing, mouth caught in a round _o_.

“Oh,” he finally says, face warming as Viktor tugs him down into his lap. “Oh, you.”

He sinks into Viktor’s arms, letting him hold him tight, and lets out a contented sigh as he snuggles in close. Viktor kisses his jaw, his cheek, his ear, and trails his lips down his neck, leaving a path of soft kisses over his pulse and down the underside of his jaw. Yuuri melts.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Viktor breathes between kisses, pressing Yuuri closer to his chest. “I was so worried…”

“Oh,” Yuuri sighs, a little too distracted by the touch of his lips for anything else. “Vitya…”

Viktor slides a hand up to caress his cheek, fingers brushing his hair while his thumb strokes over his cheekbone. Yuuri leans into his touch, closing his eyes, and places his hand over his boyfriend’s.

“I’m okay. I’m okay. This just happens sometimes.”

Viktor’s thumb rubs back and forth over his cheek, moving in small circles. “I know. I know it does. I just… I worried.”

Yuuri kisses his palm, trying his best to ignore the swell of guilt rolling over in his stomach. He _is_ high maintenance, and he made Viktor worry. There’s no way Viktor’s going to want to be stuck with him forever. As good as what they have is, there’s no way it’ll last. The thought sends a pang through his chest, but for the moment, he tries to ignore it, instead making himself smile into Viktor’s touch. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

Immediately, Viktor’s other hand cups Yuuri’s other cheek, and then he presses their foreheads together. Yuuri opens his eyes to see Viktor’s blue ones staring at him intently.

“It wasn’t your fault, luchik,” Viktor murmurs, his voice intense and low and emphatic as if he knows what Yuuri was thinking just now. “Not. Your. Fault. You are so selfless and so—” He kisses Yuuri to punctuate his words. “—brave and good—” Another kiss. “—and kind.”

“Oh,” Yuuri mumbles again. He leans forward for another kiss, this one softer and slower and sweeter, just mellow and gentle. One of Viktor’s hands slides to cradle the back of his head, stroking through his hair, and Yuuri sighs contentedly into the kiss.

“So don't give me any of this ‘sorry for scaring you’ business,” Viktor tuts, his voice soft and intent as he caresses his cheek. Yuuri opens his eyes to see his boyfriend looking at him with so much tenderness he could drown in that blue gaze. “You are… oh, Yuurochka, I wish I could keep you safe forever, but the fact that I can't doesn't mean I don't want to be with you.”

“Vitya,” Yuuri starts, trailing off. The guilt still sits in a big lump in the pit of his stomach, mumbling things about how Viktor will change his mind in time, but even so, it's hard for it to ruin this moment, this moment full of so much warmth.

Viktor kisses him again, slow and gentle and tender, and Yuuri melts into him just like before, winding his arms around his neck and twining his fingers in his hair. He feels so safe right now that it's hard to believe Viktor can't actually fight off all the villains around him, though he has to laugh at the thought of poor clumsy Vitya being any kind of superhero.

“You're smiling,” Viktor croons, breaking the kiss to nuzzle his cheek. “I like your smile.”

“I like _you,_ ” Yuuri answers, corny idiot that he is.

Fortunately, Viktor seems to like him too, corny idiot or not, because Viktor lets out a delighted laugh and then gently but firmly pushes him down on his back, propping himself up on his elbows over him. It's a bit of a compromising position, but they are dating, so Yuuri figures they should be able to lie like this without him blushing.

“You're blushing,” Viktor coos.

Dammit.

He leans down to kiss Yuuri's forehead, then rolls to the side so he can free an arm to play with Yuuri's hair. “It's cute, solnyshko. You are so precious, you know?”

“I'm gonna fall asleep, if you keep this up,” Yuuri warns, already closing his eyes.

Maybe Viktor _will_ get sick of him one day. But if that's the case, all he can do is enjoy whatever time they do have together.

“Good.” Viktor nuzzles his cheek. Their legs are all tangled together, and though there isn’t much room to move, Yuuri feels very safe and very cozy. The warmth of Viktor’s body radiates through his clothes, just barely present, and Yuuri snuggles into him with a soft sigh. “You deserve rest.”

Viktor’s ministrations mean he’s just about asleep when Makkachin wanders over and licks his ear, and his resulting shriek has Viktor laughing for the next ten minutes.

(But it’s mostly okay, because he likes Viktor’s laughter a lot.)

 

* * *

“You worry me sometimes,” Yuuri sighs, his thumb stroking Viktor’s knuckles.

Viktor blinks at him innocently, pouting a little, but his face falls even though he seems to be trying to hide it, and after a moment he looks away and sighs deeply. He somehow very dramatically managed to drop a knife while doing dishes this evening, while Marquis was giving Yuuri trouble (again), and now they’re in the hospital waiting room because it probably needs stitches.

“I’m sorry,” Viktor says, hanging his head. “I… you don’t have to wait here with me. I know it’s getting late and we have work in the morning, and…”

Yuuri looks at him incredulously. “Hey.”

He stops.

“Of course I’m staying,” he says, shaking his head. “Why in the world would I worry _less_ if I wasn’t with you?”

Viktor shrugs, then hisses when the movement tugs at his injured arm. Yuuri winces in sympathy—he saw Marquis slice up Eternità’s arm earlier, too, and it looked _painful,_ and Viktor’s cut kind of reminds him of that, though it’s less severe—and squeezes his hand.

“Sorry,” Viktor mutters.

“What for?”

Viktor sighs. “I don’t know. Making you worry, I guess.”

Yuuri presses his lips together, then touches his cheek with his free hand, guiding Viktor to look at him. He doesn’t know how to do emotions like this (funny, because he’s such an emotional mess of a human being himself), but he doesn’t want Viktor thinking that worrying him is _wrong_ or something, because at least they’re here together instead of separate, and Yuuri _knows_ what’s happening instead of having to wait, like Viktor does every time he gets kidnapped, and…

He strokes the fringe of Viktor’s hair back from his face as tenderly and romantically as he can while they’re sitting in two plastic hospital waiting room chairs, surrounded by the scent of antiseptics and various other ill or injured people. “I… only worry because I care about you. It’s okay. One day I’ll be fully able to accept that you’re my accident-prone Vitya.”

Viktor offers him a wry little half-smile. “Am I really that accident-prone?”

Yuuri sighs fondly to cover a laugh. “I have never met anyone who has managed to trip over his own poodle half as many times as you, dear. For a dog who supposedly loves you, she sure does seem to try and kill you often.”

“If Makkachin wanted me dead,” Viktor proclaims, “she’s smart enough that she could’ve pulled it off by now.”

Yuuri wrinkles his nose, the thought of Eternità dodging swords and daggers still too fresh in his mind’s eye. He’s still shaken by the blood that soaked into his side when Eternità flew him to safety, though he’s not half as shaken as Viktor was at the sight of it. “Actually, never mind. Let’s not think about you dying, please? I like you alive.”

“Oh,” Viktor says, suddenly quiet. Yuuri gives him a slow, appraising look, but he doesn’t meet his eyes, studying the tile floor with an odd intensity. “Okay.”

When they get back to Yuuri’s place, which is closer to the hospital, it’s nearly two in the morning. Phichit is already asleep, as is Vicchan, but the dog wakes up as soon as they enter the living room, jumping frantically about their legs as they toe out of their shoes. Yuuri hushes him and scoops him up before he can overwhelm Viktor, who is exhausted and whose arm still hurts, but Viktor just smiles and kisses the dog’s little head.

“He was worried about you, Yuuri.”

Oddly guilty at the thought, Yuuri shrugs, patting Vicchan’s side. “He knows I don’t always come home…”

Viktor hooks his good arm around his waist as they walk to his bedroom, flicking on the lights and closing the door. Yuuri offers him an old, stretched T-shirt and some sweatpants to sleep in, changing into his own pajamas while Vicchan attempts to take up the entirety of his queen-sized bed.

Once they’re lying down together, Viktor awkwardly resting his bad arm above his head, he wraps his good one around Yuuri’s waist and pulls him close. They’ve slept together (just sleeping!!!) a couple of times, and Yuuri knows he’s very cuddly, but that doesn’t stop a little thrill from zinging through him at the contact anyway. He _loves_ sleeping with Viktor. He’s warm and it’s like a giant extended hug. The only problem is sometimes Yuuri overheats, but he’s willing to ignore that, because it’s not _romantic_ to complain about it, and he can always just stick his feet out of the covers.

“Yuuri?”

Viktor’s voice is a quiet whisper, a hushed question. He sounds sadder than moonlight on an empty sea.

“I’m here.”

Stupid. Why did he just say that? Of _course_ he’s right here. He’s literally holding onto Viktor and cuddling with him. But it felt like the right thing to say. Does that mean he’s doing romance and comfort right? If it feels like…

Oh, hell, he’s totally overthinking this. He’s already gone and said it. The time for overthinking is supposed to be _before_ that.

Viktor takes in and lets out a deep, shaky breath. “…I’m sad.”

Yuuri traces the faded letters on his shirt, spelling out _Rainbow Sheep_ over Viktor’s chest. “I know. Is there… can I do anything?”

Another pause, another hesitation, another breath. Perhaps this is a conversation it’s easier for Viktor to have in the dark, when he can’t see a face or worry about expressions. Yuuri can understand that concern.

“I…”

Viktor stops, choking on his own breath as it hitches in his throat, and Yuuri freezes. Is he about to _cry?_ Oh, god, they’ve been dating for three months now but he still has never seen Viktor cry in front of him, oh god, what does he _do,_ is Viktor going to want to pretend he’s not crying or is Yuuri supposed to acknowledge it first or—

Viktor’s voice breaks a little. “Can you j-just hold me?”

Yuuri’s heart breaks a little, too. “Yeah. Yeah, hey, come here, I’ve got you…”

He carefully helps Viktor roll over onto his side, keeping his hurt arm out of the way. Viktor buries his face in his chest and lets out a shaky little sniffle-sob combination that has Yuuri’s brows knitting together in concern, and he wraps his arm tightly around his boyfriend’s shoulders, the other hand a little awkwardly stuck between them. He wriggles that arm a little so he can twine his fingers in Viktor’s hair, rubbing what he hopes are soothing little circles on his scalp.

Viktor doesn’t cry very long or very loudly, just quietly gasping into Yuuri’s shirt and clutching at him with his good hand, curled up into a painful little ball. Yuuri rocks him a little bit, wanting this to stop, wanting him to smile and stop hurting, and kisses his hair several times.

Eventually, Viktor looks up at him, eyes shining even in the darkness. “I… Yuuri…”

Yuuri kisses his forehead, and Viktor’s eyes get very round and very shiny again. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Viktor makes a little sound in the back of his throat, like a mewl but more plaintive and frustrated and soft. “I do, but…”

He trails off, tucking his head back against Yuuri’s chest. Yuuri pets his hair again.

“But…?”

Viktor swallows, hard. “I… I’m scared.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says softly. He bows his head until his nose is buried in Viktor’s hair, closing his eyes, and frantically racks his brain for answers that it does not possess.

How is he supposed to handle this! Nobody taught this in college! What To Do When Your Boyfriend Is Upset And Is Scared To Tell You Why 101—he could’ve used that! What is he supposed to say? Is he allowed to pry? Or would that be overstepping his bounds? Where exactly _are_ those bounds? They’ve never talked about that before. He’s never thought about it before! Fuck!

Oh, god, the honeymoon phase is wearing off and Viktor is going to realize that he’s a complete and utter disaster of a human being who can’t help him in times of crisis, and he’s going to leave his sorry ass any day now, and then they’ll have to keep working across from each other so awkwardly and he’ll never stop remembering the days when Viktor made him tea and comforted him and—

Viktor sniffles again and lets out a tiny gasp, very soft and sad and piteous, and Yuuri’s heart fractures even further. He pulls himself out of his spiralling thoughts, wanting to smack himself for letting his mind run away with him like that while Viktor needs him.

“I’m sorry,” Viktor whispers. Yuuri can feel hot tears soaking through his shirt, and that hurts so much he has to hold Viktor even tighter, pressing him close. “I’m s-sorry I’m such a pain, I’m so sorry…”

“Vitya,” Yuuri murmurs, at a loss. “You’re not… I never would think of you as… I just don’t—you’re so—”

Viktor’s voice comes out as a wretched little whimper. “Please?”

Yuuri cradles the back of his head, pressing him close. “Please what, Vitya?”

Viktor swallows another sob; Yuuri can feel his head bob with the effort of it. “P-please don’t leave me?”

“Oh,” Yuuri breathes, and all his insecurities about not being enough or not being what Viktor wants or needs or anything else fly right out the window. “Oh, sweetheart, of course I won’t. I’m here. I’m right here, for whatever you need. I’m here. It’s okay.”

Viktor takes a few deep breaths, trying to get himself under control. Yuuri keeps holding him as tightly as he can, arms clasped around him, and waits. Stillness descends around them, keeping them safe and warm under the blankets, and he can slowly feel his own exhaustion from the day’s events creeping up on him. Tomorrow will be a long day.

Viktor lifts his head, just a little, and Yuuri forces himself back to wakefulness. “…Luchik? Are you awake?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri mumbles into his hair.

Viktor squeezes him tight. “I’m sorry I’m being like this today. You’ve had so much to deal with already. I’m sorry. Thank you for taking care of me.”

Yuuri nuzzles his head and manages to plant a sleepy kiss on his forehead again. “Don’t have to be sorry. I like… being able to take care of you, too. Makes me feel like less of a burden on you whenever I need help.”

He doesn’t know if he ever could have admitted that out loud in the daytime. Maybe there really is some merit to having this discussion in the dark, while lying in each other’s arms, Viktor’s head cradled against his heart.

Viktor stills against him.

“Yuuri, my… Yuuri. You’ve never once burdened me.”

His words are careful, quiet, and intent. He almost sounds upset at the thought that Yuuri would think of it that way. Yuuri tangles his fingers in that soft, silky moonlight hair and smiles against his boyfriend’s skin.

“Neither have you,” he says simply, and thinks he’ll leave it at that, but then Viktor huffs out a quiet, breathy laugh, and the courage to ask another question finally finds him. “…Vitya… why are you scared to tell me what made you sad?”

Viktor goes still quiet and frozen in his arms, hardly even daring to breathe. Yuuri gives him a squeeze and waits, keeping his eyes open with determination not to fall asleep.

“It’s… not something I’ve ever told anyone before,” Viktor finally says, “and I’m, ah… I’m afraid of how you might react?”

He doesn’t sound strong, confident, or charming in that moment. Those are all things Yuuri generally associates with his boyfriend, but right now, he just sounds tiny and frightened and _vulnerable,_ vulnerable in a way that makes Yuuri ache to pick him up and protect him forever. He supposes holding him tight in the dark of night is the closest to that he’s going to get, nuzzling Viktor’s crown again and rubbing his back and slipping his leg between his, wanting to hold him forever. He feels so protective in this moment that he hardly knows what to do with himself.

“It’s okay,” he finally manages to say, swallowing all the _tell me_ s and _I promise I won’t reject you or hurt you_ s that want to spill out of his mouth. “You don’t have to say it if you don’t want to.”

Viktor breathes out slowly, tension draining out of his body. He relaxes, catches Yuuri’s knee between his thighs, and presses a kiss to his chest.

“Thank you, zolotse. Thank you for being so understanding.”

“Anytime,” Yuuri murmurs, kissing his hair again. He can’t help but be _curious_ —is Viktor’s secret something about his childhood? Did he come from a broken home? Or maybe it’s the reason he left Russia! Or it could be something about a former lover, or something else entirely—but he tells himself not to wonder, out of respect for the man in his arms. If Viktor doesn’t want him knowing, it’s not his place to try and figure it out.

“I want to tell you,” Viktor adds after a moment, his fingers tracing something on Yuuri’s back. “I just… I don’t know how, yet. I’m…”

He laughs, a bitter, self-depreciating sound. Yuuri doesn’t like that laugh.

“I’m a little afraid you’d hate me for it.”

“I could never hate you,” Yuuri blurts immediately. “Never.”

Viktor hums thoughtfully. Then he sighs. “We should sleep.”

That conversation is over, then. Yuuri nods into his hair. Then, because his brain-to-mouth filter appears to have utterly deserted him, he yawns and adds, “I love you.”

For a moment, he freezes. They haven’t said that before. Was this bad timing? Too soon? Oh, god, he’s desperate and now Viktor knows it, he’s such a desperate idiot and—

Viktor _melts_ against him, kissing his chest again, once, twice, thrice.

_Oh,_ Yuuri thinks, vague and fuzzy as Viktor lets out a little sigh, soft and pliant and content against him, shifting up and trailing those kisses up with him, transitioning from shirt to bare skin. _Oh. Maybe he needed to hear that after all._

Viktor kisses up his neck, cups his jaw, and then kisses him sweetly, so soft and tender that Yuuri could weep. He gently kisses back, his hand still cradling the back of Viktor’s head, and Viktor lets out a contented _mmm_ into his mouth. Yuuri kisses the corner of his lips when he pulls back, then his nose too for good measure, and Viktor steals another kiss.

“I love you, too, solnyshko,” he murmurs, nuzzling Yuuri’s cheek and then kissing down his jaw and neck again. He settles cozily into the pillow, his lips against Yuuri’s collarbone, and slides his arm back to wrap around Yuuri’s waist, closing his eyes.

He’s perfect, actually, Yuuri thinks. Whatever his secret may be, he’s perfect.

 

* * *

Yuuri dreams of blood.

He dreams of blood, his own blood, dripping, slow and insidious and hot, hot like fire, rolling down from the thin line on his throat. Each little bead burns glowing like hot metal that courses down his body, over his collarbone and down his chest, searing pain into his skin.

“Please stop,” he whispers. He can’t speak up, or else… or else…

If he’s loud, it’ll hurt more. He’ll hurt and hurt and hurt. He has to be quiet and unobtrusive. If he’s loud, they hurt him. He… he’s so scared, please, he just wants to go home, please…

Swallowing tears makes his throat bob, and more blood, thick and horrible, spills out. He has to clamp his hands over his mouth to hold in a pained whimper as it drips and drips and drips, his bare skin burning and burning and burning. Please. Please let this _end_.

“Please,” he whispers, again, but he fucks up and the whisper turns into a _whimper_ , and suddenly he knows he’s been heard, and now They’re angry at him. They’ll hurt him more. They want him to shut up and be good and now he’s ruined everything!

“I told you to keep your damn mouth _shut_ ,” Hypervolt hisses, leering out of the gloom with a menacing wire in her hands. He tries to run, but he can’t move, he can never move, and he knows the rest of Them are out there terrorizing the city, attacking Eternità, and he’s useless, and now he’s going to hurt and hurt and—

“Yuuri?”

Hands are on his shoulder and his face, a thumb stroking the tears from his cheeks. Yuuri opens his eyes, gasping, thrashing beneath the tangled blankets, and sees darkness.

“Luchik,” Viktor’s voice says, next to his ear, and he inhales sharply, heart still pounding. “You were having a bad dream.”

“Oh,” Yuuri breathes, but his heart is in his throat and it’s beating harder than a thousand racehorses, blood rushing in his ears. Did—did he kick Viktor while flailing around? Oh god. He can’t breathe. “Oh m-my god, I, I, Vitya—”

Viktor shifts in the bed, and there’s a _click_ , and the room floods with warm yellow light. Yuuri scrabbles to get his back against the headboard, curling in on himself defensively as the familiar outlines of Viktor’s bedroom settle into place, blurry but real.

It’s real, it’s real, it’s real. His hand creeps up to his throat, feeling at the scar, and Viktor crawls closer.

“Yuuri,” he murmurs. “Can I hold you?”

Yuuri nods jerkily, frantic, needing something to ground him. “P-please.”

Viktor needs no further urging, immediately wrapping both his arms around Yuuri and pulling him to his chest. Yuuri lets out a trembling breath and buries his face in his neck, clutching weakly at him, and Viktor starts to rock him back and forth.

“Shh, darling, shh,” he murmurs, low and husky and sweet. “You’re safe.”

Yuuri doesn’t know exactly how long he lies there, stiff and frozen in Viktor’s arms, as small as he can possibly make himself. He tries to concentrate on the feel of the blankets and the soft little balls of fuzz against his legs, the warm weight of Viktor’s arms pressing into his back, the rise and fall of his boyfriend’s chest, the beating of his heart, and the sweet nothings Viktor is crooning above his ear.

He’s here, the dream isn’t real, and he’s safe.

(For now.)

He’s here.

He’s safe.

A deep breath in, a slow breath out. Another.

Slowly, he starts to relax in Viktor’s arms, and Viktor kisses his hair and coos encouragingly. “That’s it, solnyshko, there you go, good, good!” he says, rubbing Yuuri’s back, pressing him closer again, until Yuuri is limp and pliant against him. “My wonderful Yuurasha. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Villains,” Yuuri mumbles, pressing his nose into the hollow at the base of Viktor’s throat. “Wanna forget it.”

Viktor nods, understanding. “Think you can sleep again yet?”

Yuuri shakes his head. “S-sorry.” He can’t, but suddenly a huge wave of guilt punches him in the stomach. He’s keeping Viktor up. What time is it, anyway? Without him around, Viktor would be sleeping peacefully.

“Dorogoy,” Viktor admonishes, gentle but firm. “None of that.”

He tips Yuuri’s chin up, presses his lips to the tip of his nose, and looks him in the eyes. Yuuri glances away, ashamed, and Viktor kisses his cheek this time. God, he doesn’t deserve this. Viktor shouldn’t have to put up with his stupid nightmares.

“Can I take care of you?” Viktor caresses his jaw, making him look at him again. “Please?”

Yuuri almost bursts into tears on the spot, but thankfully manages to just nod before he buries his face in the crook of Viktor’s neck again. Viktor lets out a breathy chuckle and hugs him tight, nuzzling his hair.

“Thank you,” he says. “I’ll make you some tea, does that sound good?”

Yuuri hesitates. Would it be pathetic if he said he didn’t want Viktor to let go of him? Probably. “Um… okay.”

Viktor kisses the top of his head. “Alright. I’ll be right back. In the meantime, here,” and he pulls back, turning to his nightstand. Yuuri, a pathetic idiot indeed, misses his embrace already.

Viktor grabs his phone, opens the nightstand drawer, rummages around, and produces a pair of fancy-looking headphones, which he hands to Yuuri and plugs into his phone. Yuuri puts them on and pulls the blanket up, feeling safer under the covers because he is, actually, a child and a moron, as music starts to play.

_Sento una voce che piange lontano; anche tu, sei stato forse abbandonato?_

“This is one of my favorite songs,” Viktor says, kissing Yuuri’s forehead. Yuuri slips one of the headphones off his ears to hear him better. “I find it soothing when I’m upset. It feels uplifting. Maybe you’ll like it, luchik. Listen while I make you tea, if you like?”

“Okay,” he whispers, reaching out tentatively. Viktor immediately takes his hand, and Yuuri pulls it over to press a clumsy little kiss to his fingers before he lets go. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Viktor says, smiling, and heads out of the bedroom to get the tea.

Yuuri closes his eyes and tries to focus entirely on the music. He doesn’t understand a word of it, but it flows over him and thinking about how Viktor must have listened to this song many, many times to call it his favorite, is calming. Of course his boyfriend is a fan of Italian opera. It’s actually very cute, and letting his mind wander off down the lane of thinking Vitya is adorable is a good way to wash the remnants of the nightmare away, like cobwebs being swept down a stream.

_Se potessi vederti dalla speranza nascerà l’eternità…_

Yuuri lets out a deep breath, slowly, and takes in another. In… out. In… out.

Viktor returns with a steaming cup of pomegranate green tea just as the song ends and loops back to the beginning. Yuuri only realizes he’s back when he a kiss is pressed to his forehead, and he opens his eyes, sliding the headphones off.

“Hi, darling,” Viktor smiles, offering the tea. “Feeling a little better?”

“Much,” Yuuri says, actually able to smile back as he takes the cup. He’s still a little shaky, but that’s a vast improvement. “Thanks.”

Viktor sits down next to him and wraps an arm around his shoulders. “I’m glad.”

Yuuri leans against him with a sigh, cuddling close. “You’re so good to me.”

Viktor shrugs slightly, kisses his temple, and hums. “I figure you’d do the same for me, luchik. Do you need anything else?”

Yuuri lays a hand on his knee. “...Stay?”

“Gladly,” he says. “Oh! I know. How about a story? For while you drink your tea?”

_So you don’t have to be alone in your head with silence,_ he means, and Yuuri could kiss him for it. “That sounds… really good. Thank you, Vitya.”

Viktor leans over to the nightstand again and pulls a well-loved book out of the drawer where he got the headphones. “This is one of my favorites,” he says with a fond smile. “Cozy, yes?”

“Yes,” Yuuri murmurs, tracing a heart on his thigh. He traces the words _I love you_ next, and Viktor gives him an immeasurably fond look.

“Alright,” he says, giving him a squeeze. “In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit…”

(For the rest of that night, Yuuri sleeps peacefully.)

 

* * *

It’s a dark and stormy night when Yuuri finds himself in the office, once again, doing some work. This in and of itself is far from an unusual occurrence, especially when he has a project to work on, and so here he sits, coffee steaming in the mug near his computer as he rubs his temples and sighs. The screen in front of him is bright, and so are the fluorescent lights above him. It might as well be three in the afternoon, not three in the morning. At least tomorrow is Saturday, and he’s going to sleep in.

He sighs again, takes a generous sip of his coffee, and resumes typing. There’s a lot to be done before he can call it quits and go home. He has to finish this piece on Eternità’s latest exploits soon—having it done tonight might be a self-imposed deadline, but he’s determined.

Besides, he’s the one always coming face-to-face with Eternità. Or, uh, face-to-mask. It’s not like anyone else can finish this the way he can. He has to get it done, and he has to do it right.

That in mind, he swigs some more coffee and starts scrolling through pictures again, narrowing his eyes. Scorcher, Marquis, and Hypervolt have been up to their usual, messing around and trying to overtake the city, but at least for the past couple of weeks they’ve been silent. Which probably means he’s going to have a shitty Monday sometime soon, but he’ll deal with that when it gets here.

He’s just picking a shot from an article about Scorcher’s latest attack downtown when his phone buzzes sharply with an incoming message.

[03:07] Vitya:  
_[Voice message]_

Smiling to himself, he goes back to the screen as he presses _play,_ letting Viktor’s voice play out into the emptiness of his office.

“Yuuuuuriiiii! I miss you so, _so_ much, solnyshko!” He babbles something in Russian that Yuuri doesn’t understand but can understand the gist of, and in the background there’s laughter. Viktor pauses, says something in French, and when he addresses Yuuri again, he can hear the pout in his voice. “Chris says I am gay. Yuuri, I _am_ gay. I love youuuu!”

Laughing, Yuuri composes a quick reply, his chest full of warm and fuzzy feelings. Viktor is beyond precious.

[03:09] Yuuri:  
hahaha i love you too!  
make sure to stay hydrated so you don’t have a bad hangover tomorrow <3

[03:09] Vitya:  
YUORE AWKAE?????????  
yuuuujuuriiiik go to sleep!!!!@!!!  
o cant typ pe (((  
wnana sleep WITh i  
*with u!!! !! !

[03:10] Yuuri:  
i’m working!!! i’ll go to sleep in a little while (^・ω・^ )

[03:10] Vitya:  
chir s syas ur prety  
ut thr PRETIEST  
so osft  
so godo for h ug!! <2223  
yuuuutri im drink as duck  
drink ad dick  
FUCK  
fuck!!!!!  
f uc k  
I DDI IT!!!!

[03:11] Yuuri:  
yes dear i noticed.  
and you did it!!! im proud of you <3

[03:11] Vitya:  
GAASPPSPSPPP  
U CALED ME D EAR !!`!  
thast GAy

[03:11] Yuuri:  
i don’t know if u knew this, but i AM gay!!!  
for u in particular!!  
(◍•ᴗ•◍)♡ ✧*。

[03:12] Vitya:  
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥☻♥♥  
oh no i ddin t mean to p ut ♥  
NO I MENA T ♥ ID DINT WANT ☻  
IL OVE U

[03:12] Yuuri:  
i love you too!!! drink water and get some sleep too ok??  
im glad ur having a good time!!!

A few minutes, and Viktor doesn’t respond. He probably went to dance with Chris or something; the two of them go clubbing together sometimes. They both invited Yuuri along for tonight, but Yuuri has gone with him in the past, and he knows how he gets with alcohol in him. He is _not_ making a complete idiot of himself in front of Viktor, in _public,_ no less.

And besides… he has work to finish.

Smiling to himself again, he replays Viktor’s voice message, amused and fond. It’s funny—maybe it’s because he’s been working on this piece about the villains and their hero, but for a second, he really thought Viktor’s voice was Eternità.

He shrugs that off and gets back to work, considers another folder of photos, and opens one of himself and Eternità after a fight with Scorcher, last month. A steam trap had burned Eternità’s side rather badly during the fighting, and he’d hissed in pain when he tried to carry Yuuri to safety, enough so that Yuuri had to insist that he should get to a hospital and let Yuuri worry about getting home himself.

He frowns, remembering. That had been a bad week. That same day, Viktor dropped a pot of boiling water while cooking and had an angry, red burn all along his side…

…the same side that Eternità burned, actually.

Yuuri’s frown deepens. That has to be a coincidence—of _course_ it has to be.

And maybe he should dismiss it out of hand, but he’s a stubborn idiot sometimes, and he’s an investigative journalist on top of that, so double checking things can’t hurt, right? And…

He thinks back, to the attack before that, but Eternità didn’t get particularly hurt that time. Or the time before that, either. The time before _that_ was… hmm. That was Marquis, the time Eternità jumped in the way to shield Yuuri and his arm got sliced so deeply Yuuri thought he might have collapsed from blood loss. He probably would have, if he hadn’t had some sort of spell that helped it heal faster.

And that was the night he spent at the waiting room, with Viktor, supposedly thanks to a freak accident while doing the dishes.

Head spinning, Yuuri thinks back to the previous incident. That was Hypervolt, at the mall. Right.

 Eternità got flung backwards and landed badly on one leg.

Viktor said he hurt his ankle by tripping over Makkachin.

_Oh, my god,_ he thinks faintly, article abandoned as he covers his mouth with both hands, staring wide-eyed at the image of Eternità on his screen. He has Viktor’s shoulders. The shape of his jaw is intimately familiar, because Yuuri has kissed it many, many times. He holds himself differently, but now that he’s looking for it…

How has he never noticed this before?

With shaking fingers, he presses _play_ on Viktor’s voice message again.

“Yuuuuuriiiii! I miss you so, _so_ much, solnyshko!”

That’s…

That _is_ Eternità’s voice.

Heart pounding in his chest, Yuuri sinks back in his chair, numb and wide-eyed as the rest of the message continues to play, going in one ear and out the other. He… Viktor… Viktor is Eternità. Viktor, his boyfriend, sweet and charming and thoughtful and gentle Viktor, is Eternità.

Why did he never tell him?

[03:28] Yuuri:  
…hey.  
we should talk, when you’re sober.

He presses send, buries his face in his hands, and takes a deep, shaky breath. Oh, god. Is this real? This can’t be happening.

Fuck, and Viktor’s drunk off his ass right now! They can’t talk about it until tomorrow at the _earliest_. But it swirls painfully in the pit of Yuuri’s stomach like a tiny dagger, scraping painful whispers into the security Viktor has built in their relationship over the past several months. God, it’s almost been a _year_ since they got together—their anniversary is next week!—and this… this…

_He didn’t tell you because you don’t actually matter to him,_ whispers the anxiety. _You’re just a fun pastime, but you don’t matter. You aren’t important enough._

“Shut up,” Yuuri hisses to the empty room. Outside, lightning flashes and thunder rolls, low and menacing. The rain picks up against his window, blown by a hard gust of wind. “Shut _up._ ”

His phone rings.

Yuuri yelps and fumbles it so dramatically he drops it, slams his knee into the underside of his desk, and hits his head on the armrest of his chair as he dives down to grab it. Since this is what his life has come to, he just sits on the carpet under his desk as he turns it over to look at the screen, hands trembling. Does Viktor somehow know he just found him out? Is he mad? Is he going to break up with him right away, saying _ah, you figured it out, I’m drunk but bye now you piece of shit?_ Is he…

It’s Phichit.

Shaking in relief, Yuuri accepts the call. “H-hey. What are you doing up?”

Phichit, when he answers, sounds very groggy and very grumpy. “You. You, my good bitch, need to start talking. Into this phone. Right now.”

There’s a soft whine from the other end, too, and sudden guilt rises up in Yuuri’s chest. “Oh, no. Is that Vicchan?”

“He’s upset and he keeps going to your room, not finding you, and coming to cry to me,” Phichit huffs. “So you’re gonna talk to him because hearing your voice will make it better, and then you’re going to get your ass home and cuddle your poor dog. Got it?”

This is so surprisingly normal that Yuuri’s growing panic starts to dissipate, and he huffs out a breathy laugh. “Okay. Okay. You’re right. Vicchan, little Vicchan, are you there? Do you hear me, little one?”

Cooing nonsense and baby-talk to his dog, he crawls out from under his desk and saves all his work. There’s no way he’s getting anything done tonight anyway, not after… not after a revelation like this… so he might as well go home without a fight.

He croons into the phone all the way home, hurrying across the parking lot in the rain and driving back to the apartment. When he puts his key in the door, Phichit ends the call as Vicchan yips, and he hears paws skittering across the living room floor as he pushes the door open.

“Vicchan!”

The poodle all but leaps into his arms, frantically licking his face and whining and wriggling in his arms, and Phichit sighs wearily, standing in the doorway of his room. Yuuri quietly nudges the door closed with his foot and sighs back.

“Hey,” he murmurs. It’s four in the morning. “Sorry.”

“Hey, it’s fine.” Phichit shakes his head, then yawns. “You okay?”

Yuuri hesitates. He is very much _not,_ given that he’s probably going to have to chunk the anniversary present he got Viktor in the trash, but now that he’s home, the exhaustion has settled into his bones. He is very tired and very sad, and he just wants to curl up with his little dog and sleep. “Um. Ask me again in the morning.”

Phichit narrows his eyes, then nods. “Kay. I’ll take you up on that when it’s not ass-o-clock. Gonna go back to bed. Night, Yuuri.”

“Night,” Yuuri echoes. Phichit closes his door again, and Yuuri carries Vicchan to his room, depositing hiim on the bed.

One of Viktor’s hoodies is draped over the back of Yuuri’s desk chair, and he stares at it with a mixture of revulsion and plain sadness. It _hurts,_ knowing Viktor has been … well, keeping secrets like this and deceiving him this entire time. He slept in that hoodie last night, smiling because it reminded him of Viktor, but now…

He grabs the hoodie, balls it up, and throws it into his laundry hamper with more force than is strictly necessary. Tears well up as it crumples and slides into the pile, sliding silently down his cheeks as he strips and pulls on his pajamas. Vicchan keens softly as he slips into bed, pressing a little doggy kiss to his chin, and Yuuri breaks down.

“V-Vicchan,” he sniffles, switching to Japanese because it feels more personal and more intimate and raw to use his native tongue. “Vicchan, I really, I really l-loved him, Vicchan, I did, I… I…”

It was in this same room, in this same damn bed, that Yuuri first said _I love you_ to him. It’s not fair. It’s not…

And Viktor was crying, then. Ironic, isn’t it! Viktor was crying and begging Yuuri not to leave him and—

A metaphorical lightbulb goes off in Yuuri’s head.

_It’s not something I’ve told anyone before, and I’m afraid of how you might react?_

The puzzle pieces click into place.

“Oh,” Yuuri whispers, and suddenly he’s swamped by a rising tide of horrible guilt for every cruel thought he just had about his Vitya. His Vitya, who has never been anything but kind and good and loving and—and—

Viktor _wanted_ to tell him. He was just scared. Scared of how Yuuri might react after finding out.

He breaks down sobbing all over again, burying his face in Vicchan’s fur. He threw Viktor’s hoodie like—like it didn’t _matter,_ like _Viktor_ didn’t matter—oh, god, he’s the worst, he’s the absolute fucking worst, oh, god, Viktor, poor sweet Viktor, oh, god…

His phone buzzes, and belatedly he realizes he has unread messages.

[03:49] Vitya:  
D:  
d id id o smoethign?  
*did ido sometihng

[04:13] Vitya:  
im sorry  
i m really sorry

Oh, god, he’s the worst human being _alive,_ he’s the worst boyfriend ever, Viktor deserves _so_ much better than him. What was he _thinking,_ sending Viktor that text? What would _he_ do if he got that text while drunk and out with a friend? He’d be crying on the floor of the bar, he knows it. Poor, poor sweet Vitya! God, Yuuri hates himself. He—he has to fix this.

[04:14] Yuuri:  
no no no no no i’m not mad!!!  
nothing is wrong!! i’m sorry for scaring you!  
i just wanted to tell you i love you again  
but i wanted to make sure you would remember it.

[04:14] Vitya:  
oh  
oh thank gdo  
imc rying i love oyu somuch  
yuore the best hting athst evre hapened to me  
ever evere ver

[04:14] Yuuri:  
i love you so much vitya, i really really do  
i’m so sorry i really should have phrased that better  
get some sleep soon, ok?

[04:15] Vitya:  
wanna slepe with u ((((

[04:15] Yuuri:  
…  
get an uber and come over?  
i’m home now just text me when you get here and be quiet bc phichits asleep

[04:15] Vitya:  
!  
its ok /  
*?

[04:15] Yuuri:  
yeah, i wanna sleep with u too haha

[04:16] Vitya:  
oh thank god  
im already. in uber  
5min awa y

[04:16] Yuuri:  
??? what??

[04:16] Vitya:  
i left hte club when is aw u say w need to talk  
im mostly sober it hink  
jus.t tired and bad at tpyign  
sorry

[04:16] Yuuri:  
oh, vitya, im so sorry i scared you :( <3  
see you soon dear

If Viktor was scared to tell him, Yuuri can’t let him know he already knows. It’d feel like violating his trust, going behind his back and finding out his secrets. He has to wait until Viktor is ready for that conversation. And that means that if Viktor is about to come over, he can’t know Yuuri has been crying.

Well, it’s a good thing he’s practiced at this.

Giving Vicchan a final little nuzzle, he swings his legs out of bed and pads to the bathroom, washes his face with cool water for several seconds, and carefully pats it dry. When he squints at himself in the mirror, he just looks tired, not teary, and that’s good enough; he returns to sit on the side of his bed and wait for Viktor’s text.

Soon enough, it arrives, and he hops up to go open the front door. Viktor all but falls into his arms, his face a little reminiscent of a sad puppy, and guilt stabs at Yuuri’s chest all over again for scaring him. _Please don’t leave me,_ he cried, that night months ago. God, Yuuri is such an idiot.

“Hey,” Yuuri murmurs, locking the door again and guiding him to the bedroom. “Hey, honey.”

“Yuurasha,” Viktor mumbles into his hair, clinging to him. “Hi.”

Yuuri gently pushes him down to sit on the edge of the bed, runs his hands through that rumpled silver hair, and kisses him gently. His lips are soft and his breath tastes of vodka, and his hands on Yuuri’s hips are warm.

He whines softly when Yuuri pulls back, looking up with big blue eyes, and Yuuri pulls him close again, his hand tangled in Viktor’s hair as he guides his head to rest against his chest. The other rests about Viktor’s shoulders, squeezing him close.

“Tired?” Yuuri finally asks, swaying their hug from side to side. “It’s late. We should sleep.”

“Mm.” Viktor hums but makes no move to let go of him.

“Have you had any water?”

“I matched my drinks,” Viktor mumbles. Yuuri cradles him against his chest, wanting to smack himself for putting all this insecurity and sadness into him, for drawing all these tense and upset lines in his body. “You’re… sure you’re not upset with me?”

Yuuri tips his chin up and kisses him as tenderly as he can, guilt still steeping in his gut like the world’s most unpleasant cup of tea. Viktor kisses him back with a hint of desperation, pulling him closer, and Yuuri sighs into his mouth despite himself. God, he loves kissing his Vitya.

“I’m not,” he murmurs, leaning down and pressing their foreheads together. “I’m not, I promise, sweetheart.”

Viktor doesn’t look convinced, biting his lip until Yuuri kisses him again to make him stop. “You never say things like ‘we should talk’. You just talk. Unless you’re upset.”

Yuuri sighs. Of course the man he’s been dating for a year knows him well enough for this.

He sinks down to sit on Viktor’s thigh, wrapping his arms around his neck, and takes a moment to figure out what to say. Viktor is still tipsy enough to be emotional and soft and vulnerable, but he’s mostly sobered up, and what’s left is a gentle soul that Yuuri wants to hold safe forever. He strokes his fingers along Viktor’s jaw (Eternità’s jaw) and kisses his temple again.

“I… _was_ upset,” he finally says, and Viktor’s shoulders droop. Yuuri hurries to kiss his temple again. “I’m not anymore. It wasn’t anything you did, Vitya dear, I was upset about something just… in general, and I wanted to talk about it with you later. But then I got home and talked to Vicchan, and I mean… he didn’t have much to say, but I felt a lot better, so…” He shrugs helplessly. “I’m really sorry for scaring you.”

“Oh.” Viktor’s voice is soft. “So… you… wanted advice?”

“More or less,” Yuuri agrees, and Viktor turns to him, plaintively tipping his face up for a kiss. Yuuri is more than happy to give him one, kissing him slow and tender, once, twice, thrice, until he feels the last of the tension draining out of his sweet boyfriend’s body. “Are you okay?”

Viktor hums, leaning his cheek into Yuuri’s hand, which, frankly, is more adorable than anything should be allowed to be at half past four in the morning. “Was really scared. But… now I’m okay. Do you still want to talk about it tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” Yuuri says, kissing his cheek because he’s too sweet and too cute and too perfect in every way. How could he have ever thought that this darling of a man would treat him like a stupid plaything and dump him aside? Viktor isn’t like that! Viktor is so, so good! “I might have gotten over it by morning. I probably will have. It was, um… brain being stupid again. You know.”

Viktor nods understandingly and plants his face into Yuuri’s shoulder. “Sleepy.”

“Let’s sleep, then,” Yuuri smiles, petting his hair. He peels Viktor’s jacket off, starts unbuttoning the shirt he’s wearing underneath, and pulls it off after the jacket, while Viktor sits on his bed next to sleeping Vicchan and looks up at him with pure adoration sparkling in his eyes.

“I wanna marry you,” he blurts out, and Yuuri freezes.

“Um, Vitya, I—maybe save this for whenever you’re sober—”

“I’m not proposing right now!” Viktor shakes his head wildly, waving his arms. “I don’t even have a ring! Yet! I just, I really, really wanna marry you. One day.”

Yuuri gapes at him for a moment, then kisses him again, hugging him tightly as emotion swells in his chest. “I wanna marry you, too.”

“Really?” Viktor looks up, [hopeful](http://paluumin.tumblr.com/post/171032573343/drunk-proposal-a-super-fluffy-and-heartwarming) and excited. “So if I did propose…?”

“I’d say yes before you finished the question,” Yuuri admits, laughing softly, and Viktor looks so delighted that he can’t help but ruffle his hair as he steps back to grab him something to sleep in. Rummaging through his drawers, he pulls out one of the pairs of pajama pants Viktor has left here before and tosses it to the bed, while Viktor fumbles at his belt and wriggles out of his slacks. “Here.”

“Wow,” Viktor sighs dreamily. “You’re the _best._ ”

Yuuri laughs again as Viktor pulls on the pajamas. He flicks the lights off on his way back to bed, clambering in, and immediately, Viktor hooks an arm around his waist and tugs him close against his chest. Yuuri wraps an arm around his neck. “I love you,” he murmurs, scrunching his fingers through his hair. “Good night, Vitya.”

“I love you too,” Viktor sighs, nuzzling his neck in that way that always sends chills racing down his spine. “I’m so glad you didn’t dump me…”

“I would never,” Yuuri promises, fierce protectiveness and love shoving the guilt aside as he presses a kiss into Viktor’s hair. “Never ever.”

Viktor sighs again and just snuggles closer, draping one leg over Yuuri’s. “You’re so good, Yuuri…”

Yuuri kisses his hair again, running his hand down his boyfriend’s back, his fingers slowly tracing the ridges of his spine. Viktor lets out a soft little peep at the touch, eyelashes fluttering against Yuuri’s neck, and Yuuri chuckles breathily. “Sleep, Vitya.”

“Mmhmmmm.” Viktor nuzzles his neck. “Mmm. Yuuuuri. My Yuuri.”

“Yours,” Yuuri echoes, caressing the back of his neck. He makes himself stay awake a little longer despite the heaviness in his eyelids, stroking Viktor’s back and shoulders and neck until his breathing evens out, and then he closes his eyes and sinks down into sleep.

 

* * *

In the morning, Yuuri wakes sometime around eight or nine—far too early, in other words. His head still hurts from exhaustion, and he groggily glances at the clock to see that it’s half past eight. Four hours of sleep is not enough, so he tucks himself more snugly into Viktor’s arms and closes his eyes again.

When he next wakes, it’s a little past noon and his bed is empty. Blinking, he surveys the ceiling before he lets out a deep sigh, remembering last night.

Viktor is Eternità.

Eternità is Viktor.

It takes him a few minutes to try and reconcile the two in his head, thinking of the shape of Eternità’s face and his mask and the sound of his voice and his laughter. It _would_ make sense, that’s the most disconcerting part—he can’t think of any reasons why Viktor _couldn’t_ be Eternità. As far as he knows, Viktor has never had an alibi when Eternità showed up. And Eternità has always wiggled out of Yuuri’s attempts to get him to meet his boyfriend.

There’s no way around it. Viktor is the masked superhero that’s spent the past two or three years saving Yuuri from supervillains.

This would be so much easier if Yuuri could just pin him down and ask him about it, but he doesn’t want to make Viktor uncomfortable. It’s his secret to share when he’s ready. And Yuuri is going to be a good boyfriend, dammit, and he’s going to give Viktor as long as he needs.

He sits up, fumbles his glasses onto his nose, and pads out into the living room, blinking.

Viktor is lounging on the couch with a mug of steaming coffee, Vicchan lying next to him with a look of drowsy contentment, and Phichit is in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove that smells savory and delicious. Yuuri’s stomach rumbles.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Viktor beams. “Did you sleep well?”

“Good afternoon, more like,” Phichit snorts.

Instead of answering either of them, Yuuri wanders over to Viktor, settles down in his lap, steals his mug, and takes several slow sips. Viktor chuckles, clearly amused, and Phichit just shakes his head.

“Slept okay,” Yuuri finally answers, pressing the mug back into Viktor’s hands. “How’s your head? Any hangover?”

“Nope!” Viktor sips his depleted coffee, winding his other arm loosely about Yuuri’s waist. It’s cozy and domestic, sitting with him like this, and it’s very easy to forget that this man is a superhero brimming with all kinds of powers. The journalist side of Yuuri wants to bombard him with eager questions, but he smacks that impulse down with determination. He _will_ be a good boyfriend! He’s gonna sit here and be patient, and he’s gonna give Viktor all the time in the world!

“That’s good,” he says, leaning against him. “Hey, chef, what are you making?”

“Lunch!” Phichit chirps, waving a ladle. “Red curry, to be precise. And don’t worry, I’m setting some aside for you, Viktor, before I add more pepper.”

Viktor, who looked slightly alarmed, closes his mouth and relaxes. “Thank you.”

Yuuri giggles, unable to help himself. His poor boyfriend might be a superhero, but he’s still no match for Phichit’s taste for spicy food. They discovered this the hard way a long time ago. Phichit still laughs.

Viktor gives him a long-suffering look. “You wound me, luchik.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“No, but you were thinking it, clear as day.”

“I was _not,_ ” Yuuri says, shaking his head. “Would I ever laugh at you for having a low tolerance for spicy food?”

Phichit waves his ladle again, nearly sending drops of curry flying. “I would!”

“I know _you_ would,” Viktor sighs, very dramatically, and Vicchan decides that that’s too much, apparently, because he clambers across Yuuri’s lap to lie over both of them, one little paw digging awkwardly into his thigh. Both of them look down at him, then at each other.

“He’s helping,” Yuuri says immediately, laying his hand on Vicchan’s head.

“He’s doing a great job,” Viktor agrees sagely.

After a few minutes of dog-petting, Yuuri picks Vicchan up, stands, deposits him in Viktor’s lap, and wanders over to the kitchen to help Phichit. Not one to be left out, Viktor gently places Vicchan on the couch and follows, and soon the three of them have plates of steaming rice and curry on the table.

“Thanks for cooking,” Yuuri says. “I’ll do dinner.”

“Can I stay for dinner?” Viktor asks immediately, perking up, and Phichit snickers.

“Someone’s desperate today.”

“You should’ve seen me yesterday. I was so drunk last night I almost proposed to him,” Viktor sighs.

Phichit chokes on his rice. Yuuri pounds him on the back, like a helpful best friend should, and continues to do so as Phichit tries to drink water. It spills down his shirt.

“Bitch,” Phichit complains.

“Bitch,” Yuuri rejoins. Both of them laugh. “Also, Vitya, you kind of did propose, actually.”

“Wait,” Phichit interjects, wide-eyed, as he abandons mopping at his shirt and stares back and forth between them. “Wait, are you guys—like, are you _engaged_ now?”

Yuuri frantically flaps his hands and shakes his head. “No, no!”

“You turned him _down?_ ” Phichit demands, incredulous. “Yuuri, this man is a _catch_ , do I need to talk sense into you—”

“It wasn’t a real proposal!” Yuuri wails. “He was drunk, Phichit!”

“And I don’t have rings yet,” Viktor adds, clearly laughing at Yuuri’s suffering. Phichit is a tease who only serves to make a) Yuuri’s life harder and b) good food, and when he and Viktor are in the same room, Yuuri might as well sign his own death warrant. _Here lies Yuuri Katsuki, a good man felled by teasing jerks._ “I think he turned me down because he wanted rings.”

“Rings?” Phichit shakes his head in mock disbelief. “Of all the things—Yuuri, I would have hoped you’d know better than to be so material as to turn such a fine man down just because of _rings._ ”

“At least _someone_ appreciates me,” Viktor laments, casting a melodramatic hand to his forehead. “Alas, the tragedies of love—he who holds my heart will not be mine simply due to bands of gold, now bands of nothing but woe!”

“Wow, look at you, Shakespeare,” Phichit laughs. “It’s okay, you can just say Yuuri is a dumbass.”

“I hate both of you,” Yuuri sighs, shoveling rice into his mouth.

Overall, it feels like a remarkably normal morning, as if last night’s earthshattering realization never happened. That’s probably for the best, Yuuri supposes, and then decides to forget about it entirely and focus on his curry.

It storms for the rest of the week, on and off; spring weather is always dreary and wet, and while Vicchan is delighted to splash in every puddle he finds on their walks, Yuuri and Phichit both agree that it’d be nice if it would lighten up for a bit, just so they could have a break from the smell of wet dog.

Viktor comes over one day while Yuuri is bathing Vicchan in the tub after an unfortunate run-in with some mud at the park. Phichit barricades Yuuri in the bathroom with a chair under the doorknob before he opens the front door; Vicchan is covered in soap, and slippery as he is, he rockets out of Yuuri’s arms and paws at the bathroom door in a thankfully unsuccessful escape attempt.

Yuuri goes to visit him, sometimes, too, both of them sharing an umbrella as they walk to Viktor’s car in the downpour. It’s very romantic, and Yuuri knows he blushes at the significance of it even though they’re already dating.

Viktor, as if he knows, leans over and gives him a long, sweet kiss once they’re standing by the car, and he feels warmth settle deep into his core.

(Then a gust of wind blows the umbrella inside-out, and cold rain soaks them both to the skin as they shriek, scrambling to get inside.)

“Here,” Viktor murmurs, pressing a steaming mug of tea into his hands. Yuuri shifts on the couch to make room for him under the blanket, and he gladly joins him, burrowing close with a sigh. “…You know, I like how my clothes look on you.”

“They’re pretty cozy,” Yuuri agrees, snug in a world that smells like Viktor. He took a hot shower when he got here, leaving his soaked clothes in the bathroom to dry off, and even his hair smells like Viktor’s shampoo now. It’s very nice. “Your elbow is pointy.”

“Hm? Ah. Sorry.” Viktor shifts his arm, wrapping it around Yuuri instead of leaning on him, and Yuuri hums his approval. Makkachin thumps her tail against the side of the couch.

The rain continues to fall outside, tapping softly against the glass. It’s lightened up since earlier, though the forecast says it’ll rain all night and only start clearing up in the morning, and thunder rumbles again off in the distance. Yuuri lays his head on Viktor’s shoulder, relishing the warmth of his body and how cozy and safe he feels, here in his arms.

No _wonder_ he feels safe with Viktor. Viktor has been saving him all along.

“You’re cute,” Viktor sighs, laying his cheek against his hair. “I wish we could just stay like this forever.”

“Mmm. Yeah.” Yuuri snakes his arm around Viktor’s waist and idly drums patterns against his hip, mirroring the rain on the windowpane. “That would be nice.”

The blanket falls from his shoulder as he lifts his tea to take a careful sip, and Viktor slides his arm down to pull it back up. It’s good tea—jasmine green, steeped just right and not bitter—and it’s perfect for a rainy evening like this. Yuuri vaguely feels like there should be soft classical piano playing somewhere in the distance, but he’s not moving, and he’s not letting Viktor move either, so they’ll have to do without.

“Tomorrow’s the weekend,” Viktor muses, rubbing his cheek against Yuuri’s hair rather adorably. “Stay the night with me?”

Yuuri nods against his shoulder. “Yeah, I’ll just text Phichit; he said he figured I wasn’t coming home tonight anyway, so all I have to do is tell him he told me so.”

Viktor laughs, low and merry. Yuuri _loves_ that laughter, would do anything if it meant Viktor would always laugh like that, and realizes that perhaps Viktor would laugh like that more if he knew how much Yuuri treasured him. Maybe that’s part of why he’s scared to bring up the secret. Maybe…

No, he tells himself sternly. No more conjecturing. Just wait, and he’ll come clean when he’s ready.

“Hey,” he says, giving Viktor a gentle squeeze. “I love you.”

Viktor sighs, sweet and content like warm honey. “I love you too, Yuurochka.”

Yuuri sips his tea again as Viktor does the same, and they sit in a companionable silence together. There’s something wonderful and warm about just watching the rain from under a cozy blanket, safe and snuggled up together with nothing else, just each other. It feels soft and intimate without words, just both of them existing together, being together, sharing the moment together, and Yuuri loves it more than he can say. Being with Viktor is just… good.

It’s really good.

“I like being with you,” he says after a moment, perhaps a little bashful but fully honest. “It’s so easy to just… you know, _be_ with you? I like that.”

Viktor chuckles fondly and presses a kiss to the top of Yuuri’s head. “My Yuuri is feeling affectionate today,” he observes, and when Yuuri looks up at him, he’s smiling very sweetly. “I like being with you, too. When I’m with you, I feel like I can just be _me,_ no strings attached. It’s very refreshing and relaxing.”

He feels free to be himself around Yuuri?

Heart swelling, Yuuri leans in and kisses him gently, smiling against his lips. He tastes like jasmine.

If he feels free to be himself, maybe that means he might not be as scared about his secret anymore. Yuuri trusts him. He’ll be honest in time, he knows he will. He aches to ask, but refrains, because if he was the one hiding a secret identity, he knows he would be afraid to mention it too, and if he was found out without wanting to be, he would probably panic and run away. He doesn’t want to put Viktor in that situation.

So instead, he just kisses his boyfriend again, fond and soft, and they giggle their way through some butterfly kisses and silly smooches, until their empty teacups are set aside and Yuuri pushes him down, laughing, to lie on top of him and nuzzle him into submission.

They make their way to bed that night hand-in-hand, and Yuuri lays his head on Viktor’s chest and asks him to read to him. Viktor picks up a well-worn copy of _The Silmarillion_ from his bedside table and opens to the chapter where they left off, and the sound of his voice soothes Yuuri into a sleepy lull as the rain pitter-patters into the night.

The morning… does not go as well as Yuuri would have liked.

It starts off nicely enough, of course. Yuuri wakes, slow and easy, to Viktor idly stroking his hair as he scrolls through Instagram, cradling him snug against his shoulder. He takes a minute or two to bask in the cozy, heavy contentment spread through all his limbs, enjoying the warmth of Viktor’s skin against his cheek, and sighs.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Viktor croons. His fingers keep stroking Yuuri’s hair as he puts down his phone and wraps both arms around Yuuri,. the other hand rubbing up and down his back a few times before settling between his shoulderblades. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mmhmm,” Yuuri hums, slipping his knee between Viktor’s legs and laying his arm over his waist. “Soft.”

Viktor lets out a little chuckle. Yuuri feels it rumble in his chest. “You’re cute.”

In lieu of an answer, Yuuri hums again and presses a tiny kiss to his boyfriend’s chest, closing his eyes again. He’s somewhat awake, but he’s so sleepy and content and cozy that he doesn’t want to move yet, and falling asleep again seems like a far better option.

“Yuuuuuuri,” Viktor laughs, tousling his hair fondly. “You’re so sweet, pryanichek. My sleepy Yuurasha. Do you not want breakfast?”

Yuuri makes a noncommital sound and nuzzles his face against Viktor’s collarbone. Breakfast sounds good, but so does cuddling more. The only thing that _doesn’t_ sound good right now is making decisions.

“We can make waffles again,” Viktor wheedles, poking his cheek. Yuuri catches his finger, tugs his arm around himself, and hums in satisfaction. Although now that he mentions it, waffles do sound very appetizing. It’s been a while since they made waffles.

Viktor persuades him out of bed not too long afterwards, and Yuuri sleepily stumbles through their shared morning routine until they’re in the kitchen and Viktor is stirring batter. Yuuri puts the eggs, milk, butter, and vanilla extract back in the fridge, cleans up a bit of spilled flour, and then ambles over to hug him from behind, laying his head against his shoulder and wrapping his arms about his waist.

“Hello there,” Viktor says, amused and affectionate. Yuuri kisses the back of his neck. “Still sleepy, luchik?”

“Kinda,” Yuuri mumbles, leaning against him. “You’re warm.”

“The coffee’s almost ready, dearest.”

Yuuri nods his acknowledgment against Viktor’s back, then pulls away to consider him. There’s a smattering of freckles across his broad shoulders. Perhaps by the time he kisses every single one, breakfast will be ready.

Seven kisses in, Viktor turns his head, his smile bemused and fond. “What are you doing?”

“You have freckles,” Yuuri explains, kissing the eighth one. “Gotta kiss them.”

Viktor lets out a charming laugh, abandons the batter, and turns around to take Yuuri into his arms and kiss him sweetly. His lips are so _soft,_ and he’s smiling as Yuuri melts into him, kissing him back ardently. It’s a slow and lazy kiss, perfect for their slow and lazy Saturday morning, and Viktor takes his time lavishing Yuuri’s lips until he pulls back and smiles.

“You’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever met,” he coos, and laughs as Yuuri ducks his head, a little embarrassed. On the table, Yuuri’s phone buzzes, but he pays it no mind as he pulls Viktor into another kiss.

The phone keeps buzzing, though, with what must be an incoming call instead of a message. Yuuri dithers, hesitates, and ultimately ignores it in favor of kissing Viktor some more, until it stops.

And then Viktor’s phone starts ringing. He frowns, stepping back from Yuuri, and glances at it. “It’s Phichit.”

Alarm suddenly spikes, paired with guilt, and Yuuri whips around to stare at his phone with wide eyes. “What? Oh no, he must have just called me and I didn’t—okay, okay, what is it?”

Viktor answers, pulling Yuuri against his chest as he puts it on speaker. “Hello?”

“Viktor!” Phichit exclaims. “Is Yuuri with you?”

“Yes, I’m here,” Yuuri answers. “Is everything okay?”

“No.”

Yuuri’s heart skips a beat, conjuring up pictures of every possible little thing that could have gone wrong. Is it Vicchan? Oh, god, please not Vicchan—

“Scorcher’s looking for you,” Phichit says urgently, and Yuuri stops fretting.

“What?”

“She just came by. Did her weird flamey-jetpack thing right outside the window, I swear I had a heart attack, but she just said she might as well go find you and I promise I didn’t tell her where you are, but it’s not really a secret you and Viktor are a thing, and I think she’s coming your way next—”

“I’ll tell her he already left to go home,” Viktor interrupts, voice hard and cold. “This is ridiculous.”

Oh, come on. Can’t he just have one lazy weekend? Is that really asking so much?

Ugh. Talk about a wake-up call.

“No, Vitya,” he says, placing a hand over his boyfriend’s heart. “It’s fine if she takes me, it’s just a few hours at the most, really. It’ll be fine. I don’t want to risk her attacking you for hiding me…”

Viktor takes a deep breath. “It’s _not_ fine,” he finally says. “You can’t live like this, Yuuri, they hurt you and you aren’t as okay with it as you pretend to be all the time, I _know_ you’re not, I’ve seen the nightmares, I’ve—”

“I’ll be okay,” Yuuri repeats, incredibly touched and almost teary that his Vitya cares for him this much. He really does just want to protect him, doesn’t he? “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Just go with it for now,” Phichit says, sounding upset. “I guess. We don’t have time for a plan. But I agree with Viktor, honestly, Yuuri; this isn’t sustainable. Not for them, not for you.”

Yuuri, torn, looks up at Viktor, who kisses him very gently and very softly and a little sadly, too. “I…”

A burst of flame on the balcony cuts him off before he finds words.

Scorcher stands there in all her fiery glory, flames flickering all around her body as she laughs, tapping on the glass. “Katsuki! There you are! Come along quietly, now, I have time-sensitive plans and Eternità won’t be able to win this time!”

Viktor’s arms tighten around him almost painfully. “He’s not yours to take!”

“Oh, god,” Phichit says. “Is she there? Oh no.”

The air around Scorcher shimmers with heat, and Yuuri feels the blood drain from his face. Vitya could fight her, sure, but here? In his own apartment, with Makkachin sleeping in the other room?

“Isn’t he?”

Yuuri scrambles to pry himself from Viktor’s grip, heart breaking as Viktor looks at him with shock and horror. His poor Vitya has never seen this happen to him before, has he? “I—it’s _fine,_ Vitya, this’ll be over before you know it,” he tries to soothe, patting his shoulder. “Honestly. I’ll just—I’ll just go with her and then Eternità will bring me back to you!”

Scorcher laughs, low and menacing, as Viktor stares at Yuuri as he slowly walks away, toward the open balcony door. “Oh, I don’t think so. Not this time.”

Yuuri hesitates in the doorframe. If there’s any useful information for Eternità to know, he wants Scorcher to say it in front of Viktor. “Yeah, right. Why not this time?”

“Because this time, I’m taking you out of the city,” she says smugly, giving Viktor a hint just as Yuuri hoped she would, “and I’ve talked to Marquis and Hypervolt, and we’ve agreed we can always find someone new, Katsuki. So if Eternità doesn’t surrender when he gets to me, he can say goodbye to that pretty little face of yours,” and she caresses his cheek, making him suppress a shudder, “because nothing will be left but _ashes.”_

“Yuuri,” Viktor chokes out, stricken, starting forward. “Yuuri, no, don’t go—”

“Better me than anyone else. Besides, Eternità will save me,” Yuuri says, trying to smile at him.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Scorcher hisses. She grabs him roughly and shoots off into the sky before Viktor has a chance to respond.

Flying with Scorcher is about as far from flying with Eternità as it gets—it’s painfully hot, humid from all the rain, and smoky to boot, so generally just very unpleasant. And the revelation that all three supervillains have reached some sort of truce, if even just about his life, is more than a little concerning. What if they’re all waiting to sabotage and attack Eternità?

That’s very unlikely, of course; their interactions with each other have always been like those of bitter rivals, not compatriots. Still, Yuuri can’t help but worry.

Scorcher ignores his coughing, as she always does, and flies through the city towards the outskirts of town, her grip burning through his borrowed clothes into his skin. Eventually, she starts descending towards an abandoned warehouse. There must be all sorts of booby traps waiting for Eternità inside, and Yuuri winces, thinking of how worried his Vitya has to be right now.

Vitya will save him. He always does.

Scorcher tosses him roughly down to the warehouse floor. There’s what looks to be a maze made of plywood and lit by lanterns with open flames, stretching across the entire expanse of the room. Although he tries to keep track of the path Scorcher hauls him along (left, straight, left, right, left, straight, right, left, right) he’s not sure he’ll be able to find his way out. Helplessness makes anxiety start churning in his gut.

They reach a room at the center, small and boxed in, with only the one entrance. There’s a metal chair and a small table, surrounded by a ring of—Yuuri sniffs—oil?

Oh, god.

“What’s different this time?” he asks, not bothering to struggle as Scorcher shoves him into the seat and ties his hands to it, behind his back. He wouldn’t win a physical fight, not against a superpowered flame villain. “Wh—ow!—why would Eternità surrender now when he’s never had to before?”

“Because if he doesn’t,” Scorcher purrs, stepping back and dragging her fingers along the underside of Yuuri’s jaw, forcing his head up, “he’ll have to live with the sound of your delicious little screams as you burn to death, for the rest of his life.”

Yuuri swallows hard. It already smells like smoke, and it’s all too easy to imagine these narrow walls going up in flames, taking him with them. He’s still in the T-shirt and shorts he borrowed from Viktor, and Scorcher standing right there means that it’s already hot enough he’s sweating in them. And if Hypervolt and Marquis really agreed that he’s unnecessary, there’s a real and present chance that he might die today.

What comes out of his mouth, instead of any of that, is “Couldn’t you at least have waited for me to finish my coffee?”

Scorcher laughs.

“It’s a pity today’s the last time I’ll ever get to experience your cutting wit,” she drawls, touching his cheek again. He jerks away from the heat of her hand, distinctly uncomfortable. “But that’s a price I’m willing to pay.”

“Why’s today the last time?” Yuuri licks his lips nervously, mouth suddenly very dry. He can’t believe that about an hour ago, he was snug and cozy in Viktor’s arms. This is going to give him whiplash.

“Oh, darling, don’t be so naïve!” Scorcher laughs again. Yuuri’s distaste swells. He _hates_ it when she calls him pet names. “You _are_ a liability to all three of us, you know. You’re not making it out alive today, regardless of Eternità’s choices.”

She turns and picks up the roll of duct tape on the small table behind her, cuts a piece, and covers his mouth despite his efforts to turn his head away. “Wait, y—mmph!”

So this is it.

He’s going to burn to death today.

No. No, Vitya is smart. Vitya will figure out it’s a trap. Vitya will—Vitya will save him.

(He’s going to die, he’s going to die in the flames and it’s going to hurt and oh, god, he’s really, actually going to die today.)

Scorcher turns back to the table, picking up the video camera sitting near the tape, and turns it on. The fire in the lantern above Yuuri’s head, hanging precariously on the edge of a hook, is the only light.

He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. He’s going to die here, he can’t breathe, oh, god, there’s no air, he—he can’t—

“Goodbye, little reporter,” Scorcher taunts, setting the camera back down, and then walks back out the way she came. Yuuri lets out a despairing cry, muffled by the tape, but of course she doesn’t change her mind, and he’s left to drown in his horror.

Time ceases to have any meaning. Alone in this stifling, smoky box in the middle of the maze, Yuuri gasps for breath and tries not to hyperventilate, completely unaware of what’s happening outside. Will he even be able to tell when Vitya gets here? When is Scorcher planning to kill him? What’s going on outside? What’ll happen to Viktor and Phichit if he dies? What will his family do?

Before he knows it, the smoke and his thoughts combine to make tears start streaming down his cheeks, silently dripping from his chin onto Viktor’s shirt. It’s not fair. It’s not _fair!_ Today started out so nicely, and now, and, and now he’s…

Somewhere off in the distance, there’s a _thud._

And maybe the maze isn’t as big as he thought, or maybe Eternità and Scorcher and the entrance were all closer than he realized, but either way, when he strains, he can make out voices, just barely.

“Where is Mr. Katsuki?” Eternità— _Vitya,_ he thinks with a wrenching pang—demands, his voice low and tight. “If you’re harmed him…”

_I’m here,_ Yuuri thinks desperately. He tries another desperate _mm-mmm!_ , but it falls flat even to his ears, swallowed by the smoke and the wood.

Scorcher laughs, high and piercing. “I haven’t, yet, but whether I do is your choice. Here you go, you can see him right now,” and Yuuri assumes she must be showing Eternità the camera’s picture of him, dimly lit and crying like a pathetic fool. He stares into the camera with wide eyes and shakes his head, desperate. _It’s a trap, it’s a trap, I don’t matter, be careful!_

There’s a moment’s pause, and Yuuri squeezes his eyes shut as more tears leak out, just imagining how horrified his poor, sweet Vitya must be, seeing him like this.

“Now, as you can see,” Scorcher says, “there’s a lamp above his head, held up by string. If I snap my fingers, it grows, that string burns away, and I’m afraid things might get a little too hot for your precious little reporter to handle. What you see around you is a maze. You can try to break it down if you really want to, but I hope you know that if you do, you’ll knock over the candles in the process, and I’m sure you can imagine how that’d end. Surrender,” and her voice goes hard and flat. “Surrender, or you get to watch him burn. Your choice, Eternità.”

“Don’t do it!” Yuuri tries to wail, but it comes out more as a “Mm-dmm-mm!” as he frantically shakes his head, the smoke making his eyes sting and more tears leak out. He coughs again, throat aching.

There’s a long, long silence.

“You surrender, then?”

No. No, no no no, no way, if Vitya surrenders Scorcher will kill him, Yuuri is sure of it, no no no he can’t, he _can’t_ —

“If… if I do, you promise that Mr. Katsuki will be released, unharmed?”

_NO!_

“I swear it,” Scorcher says slyly, “on my mother’s grave.”

No.

Yuuri won’t let this happen.

If…

If the flame gets lit, and if he dies here, Vitya won’t surrender. He’ll live. If Yuuri’s going to be set ablaze either way, at least he can save the man he loves.

He makes a show of straining against his bonds, struggling desperately, and rocks back and forth in the chair. Since it’s chained securely to the ground, Scorcher left his legs unbound, and he can use that to his advantage. “Mm! Mmm-mm!”

It wobbles. Just—just a little further, and…

_Crash!_

The chair tips to the side, and Yuuri slams into the floor. “Mmm!”

“Mr. Katsuki!” he hears his Vitya cry, alarmed. “It’s going to be alright, please don’t struggle, it’s all going to be fine!”

_It’s not,_ Yuuri thinks, _but that’s okay._

He can hardly see for all the tears as he wriggles over to the wall closest to him. The air is a little clearer down here, all the smoke rising to the top of the room, but he knows it won’t last. Not now.

There’s no time to second-guess himself, not when Vitya is about to surrender and be killed. Yuuri curls both of his legs and then kicks at the plywood wall as hard as he can. There’s a dull thud.

“What is that idiot doing?” he hears Scorcher hiss. There’s no time, no time—

But the candle in the lantern is swinging wildly, sitting precariously close to the edge of the metal platform it’s resting on. Yuuri kicks the wall again, and once more, and it drops.

_Fwoom!_

He cries out against the tape as the oil ignites with a fiery blast of heat, and suddenly the air behind him _burns._

Vaguely, he thinks he registers Vitya’s voice screaming his name. He’s not sure, more focused on the horrible stench of the smoke and the heat, the heat, the heat, the air searing against his bare arms and legs. It’s so hot. This is it—this is how he dies—and maybe he’s accepted it, but he can’t stop himself from struggling against the ropes, the chain holding the chair down, from crying out in despair against the duct tape over his mouth.

Wait.

The ropes.

The ropes—the ropes are flammable.

Please, please, _please,_ let this work, please. He gasps, harsh, shuddering breaths against the tape, and tries to twist around to look over his shoulder, tries to see where the fire is. It’s close. It’s really, really close, and it burns.

And it’s burning right by the ropes.

He’s lucky Scorcher bound him with so much rope, rather than a simple knot on his wrists. She tied him to the chair, no doubt thinking that the ropes would burn him as the maze burned around him, but if… if he can just, if the bottom of the ropes would ignite, then maybe…

Sobbing, he wriggles a little further down the wall, straining against the ropes. Craning his neck to look over his shoulder hurts, and he can’t—it just—god it burns, the air is so hot, oh, god.

One excruciating moment passes. Two.

There’s a _snap._

And suddenly the rope goes slack, and Yuuri gasps, bursting away from the chair and tumbling against the wall. It’s on fire, too, and he knows he can’t stay here long before the entire maze is engulfed. The sudden realization that he might, maybe, survive this fuels a desperate hope somewhere in his chest, and he rips the tape from his mouth and sprints out into the maze, struggling to breathe.

There’s a thud and a crash, and a cry somewhere up ahead. “Yuuri! _Yuuri!”_

_Oh,_ he realizes, as if in a haze. If the fire started in one area, Eternità would know that that’s where he was.

“I’m here!” he sobs, voice catching painfully in his sore throat. “I’m _here,_ please!”

There’s fire behind him. There’s fire in front of him. It must be from Eternità breaking through the maze, it must be, because there are only so many ways for him to run, and there’s only fire either way, and—

The wall in front of him goes flying. and Eternità sweeps into the ruined maze hallway, dim daylight streaming in behind him. Yuuri almost bursts into tears all over again at the sight of him—it’s Vitya, it’s Vitya, it’s his Vitya—and as his knees weaken and threaten to buckle, Eternità scoops him up.

“It’s okay now,” he murmurs, shooting into the air away from the flames, and it’s so blessedly cool that Yuuri does let out a sob of relief.

“Wh-where’s Scorcher?” he gasps, clutching at Eternità’s shoulders and breathing in deep gulps of air. The warehouse windows far above show a tantalizingly blue sky, and he wants nothing more than to get out of here, but, but… if things aren’t done here…

“I knocked her out,” Eternità says, zooming toward one of those open windows, and Yuuri clings to him, tears still streaming down his face. “She won’t hurt you. Shhh. Shhh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

“If… if she’s…”

If she’s unconscious, can she survive the huge fire roaring up around her?

Yuuri doesn’t know. He buries his face in Eternità’s shoulder—in Vitya’s shoulder—and decides he doesn’t want to know, not right now.

“I’ve got you,” Viktor repeats, almost like he’s trying to reassure himself. “I’ve got you, you’re safe now, it’s all okay now, I’m here. I’m here.”

They fly together in relative silence, punctuated only by Vitya’s occasional soothing murmurs as Yuuri whimpers in his arms. Eventually, he touches down on the rooftop of his apartment building, gently sets Yuuri on his feet, and takes him by the shoulders.

“You’re hurt.”

“It’s—it’s okay,” Yuuri babbles, suddenly wanting to cry all over again. Has he even stopped crying? Probably not. Can… can Viktor just hold him? Please? “I’m. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Viktor admonishes, gentle but firm. “Hold still. I have a little bit of healing magic. It’s nothing major, but…”

“But none of my injuries are major,” Yuuri finishes. The clouds have mostly been pushed away by a stiff morning breeze, and the sky is blue, blue, blue, though the wind is a little chilly. It feels good after the heat. He shivers.

Viktor walks around him, drops to one knee, and inspects Yuuri’s legs. He suddenly feels a little self-conscious, standing barefoot on a rooftop in a T-shirt and boxers that aren’t even his, while Viktor is fully dressed and fussing. It strikes him that he’d feel a thousand times more ridiculous if he didn’t know that Eternità _is_ Viktor, and he supposes that at least he has that comfort.

When Viktor gently skims a glowing palm over the back of Yuuri’s calves, first the left and then the right, he can’t help but let out a gasp from the relief. It’s like sinking the burns into something cool and gentle, like aloe maybe, or just cool water, and then Viktor repeats the process on his forearms.

He stops, then, his hand hovering near the small of Yuuri’s back, and almost shyly asks, “Do you want me to…?”

Yuuri closes his eyes, trying not to cry from the relief, and then stiffens when the wind picks up and his shirt brushes against his burning back. “I—please, Vitya.”

There’s a pause. Eternità doesn’t touch him.

Yuuri realizes what he just said.

“Oh my god,” he gasps, clapping his hands over his mouth. “Oh my god, Vitya, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—I was trying to wait until you were ready to tell me—fuck! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”

He turns around anxiously and sees Eternità, sees Viktor, his mouth slightly agape and his face [pale](http://scribblingsky.tumblr.com/post/171032601115/for-adreamingsongbirds-fic-to-sweep-me-off-my). “You—you _knew?”_

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri babbles, tears starting to well up in his eyes again. “I’m sorry, I found out on accident, I, I didn’t want to scare you, I’m so sorry—”

“Yuuri,” Viktor breathes, and then very carefully takes his hands. “Yuuri…”

And then he stops.

“No,” he says, letting go.

Yuuri’s heart stops, plummets, shatters.

This is all his fault. He ruined it. He ruined _everything._ He nearly stumbles back a step, eyes stinging from tears that he hopes he can blame on the smoke, but Viktor doesn’t let him, instead gently pulling him forward.

“No,” he repeats, his voice soft. “This can wait. You’re still hurt.”

“Oh,” Yuuri whispers, wobbling slightly as a rush of relief makes him weak in the knees, and Viktor gives him a tiny smile.

“Want me to do your back, too, luchik?”

“Please,” Yuuri breathes, closing his eyes again. Viktor lets him lay his sooty cheek against his shoulder and presses a tender kiss to his temple, gentle as the rain as he slips his hand under his shirt. His touch is soothing, and as he takes away the last of the pain, Yuuri sways dangerously, clutching at him to stay upright.

He’s alive.

He didn’t die.

Oh, god, he almost _died_ back there, and he was fully prepared to accept it…

“Yuuri,” Viktor interrupts his thoughts, gently tipping his chin up with one gloved hand. He reaches up, and a little fizzle of magic runs across his mask, which disappears in its wake. “Yuurasha, my love, my breath, my heart. Look at me.”

Yuuri blinks back more tears and looks at him. Familiar blue eyes regard him, full of warmth and worry, and then Viktor leans in and kisses him. It’s a tender kiss, short and sweet, though Viktor lingers when he pulls back. Yuuri licks his lips.

“I’m p-probably all salty,” he manages, laughing a little hysterically. “Tears. Um. Sweat. Y-you don’t… you don’t have to kiss me right now.”

“The Dead Sea itself couldn’t stop me from kissing you right now,” Viktor answers, and kisses him again, still soft and sweet and gentle. Yuuri clutches at him and kisses him back with desperation and fierce love, kissing him again when he pulls back for a moment, and then bursts into tears.

Viktor withdraws just enough to wrap one arm around his waist, the other around his thighs, and then scoops him up, carrying him against his hip like he weighs nothing. “Oh, Yuuri,” he murmurs as Yuuri buries his face in his hair, sobbing. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I have you. You’re safe now.”

He carries him over to the little rooftop courtyard, sets him down on the side of the fountain, and sits down next to him, pulling him into his arms. Yuuri sinks against him and clings, crying and crying and crying. Vitya is here, Vitya is here, they’re both here and they’re safe and, and it’s over, it’s okay, oh, god, they both lived, and… and…

“Oh, darling,” Viktor murmurs, pressing him closer and nuzzling his hair. “Oh, my Yuurochka. Hush, pryanichek. There, there, there. Hush. You’re safe now. I’m here. I’m here. It’s all okay now. It’s okay.”

Yuuri clings to him as another sob wrenches itself from his throat. “Sh-she said, she said she w-would kill me, she’d kill me either way, wh-whether you surrendered or, or not…”

“Did she,” Viktor murmurs, his voice cooling for just a moment before it warms again. “I see. I see. You were so brave, my love, you were so _brave_ and so good. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” Yuuri wails, tightening his arms. Viktor holds him and holds him and holds him, until the wind picks up enough to make him shiver.

He breaks the silence again a few minutes later, rubbing Yuuri’s back. “Luchik? If I can ask… How did you know it was me?”

Yuuri lets out a watery laugh. This? This is an easy question.

He lifts his head, touches Viktor’s cheek, traces his jaw. “I kiss this face a lot,” he says, trailing his hand down, slow and tentative, all the way to Viktor’s hand. “And hug these shoulders a lot. And get hugged by these arms a lot. And… your voice. It… wasn’t that hard to put together, after I thought about the scars.”

“Oh,” Viktor says, and then starts to laugh. “Well. Now I feel a little silly.”

Yuuri hiccups, giggles, and burrows into his chest. “I don’t think anyone else could have figured you out,” he consoles. “Unless you spend a lot of time with someone else in costume.”

“No,” Viktor smiles. “Only you, my Yuuri. It’s only ever been you.”

Yuuri presses a little closer, tightening his arms around him, and Viktor presses a kiss into his hair and squeezes back. He’s still crying, just a little bit, but he thinks he’s over the worst of it. Being held like this helps.

Viktor traces a heart into his shoulder. “How long have you known?”

Yuuri sighs ruefully. “Do you remember the week before our anniversary, when you went out clubbing with Chris and I texted you that I wanted to talk at like, three in the morning?”

Viktor nods against his hair, then pauses as realization hits. “Oh.”

“I meant to just go with it until you were ready to talk about it,” Yuuri admits, shame poking holes into his chest. “Sorry.”

“No, no,” Viktor murmurs. “We can talk about it today, if you want to, dorogoy. We probably should, to be honest.”

Yuuri lifts his head. “You’re not mad?”

“Not in the slightest.” Viktor shakes his head, smiling, and then caresses his cheek, stroking his hair back from his forehead.

They share another soft kiss, and this time Yuuri can smile against his boyfriend’s lips, finally relaxing as it slowly sinks in that he’s safe now, and that this morning’s horrors are over. Scorcher might not _ever_ be back to bother them, and perhaps Marquis and Hypervolt will back off for a while, after this.

When he pulls back, the sight of color in the sky catches his attention, and he lets out a little _oh,_ pointing over Viktor’s shoulder.

“Look,” he says, voice a little hushed, as if speaking loudly would ruin the sanctity of this intimate little moment. “There’s a rainbow.”

Viktor twists around, nods appreciatively, and kisses him again, brief and gentle. “So there is, my Yuuri.”

Yuuri’s heart swells with warmth.

Viktor does the same little gesture he did to remove his mask, running his hand over himself, and his costume fades away with a shimmer. He’s still just wearing his pajamas from earlier, and Yuuri lets out a little laugh at the sight. Viktor laughs too and smushes a kiss against his cheek. “Do you want to go back inside?”

Yuuri nods, still a little shaky but trying to smile. “I think I need a shower again.”

Viktor kisses the corner of his mouth. “Go right ahead.” He stands and wraps an arm around Yuuri’s waist to guide him toward the building entrance, and they slowly walk to the door together. The breeze picks up again, cool and refreshing, and carries away the persistent smell of smoke.

Yuuri takes a final look at the azure sky and the little rainbow, then turns away, feeling much lighter. “Mind if I steal some more clothes?”

“Not at all,” Viktor says, holding the door for him to enter. “And in the meantime, solnyshko, I believe I still owe you some waffles.”

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WI0mSEzttx8) (wink wink).
> 
> BONUS: Min's superhero design [ref sheets](http://paluumin.tumblr.com/post/171032574513/concept-sheets-for-eternita-aka-superhero) !!!


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